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ir  iitinimn. 


The  New  and  the  Old; 

OR, 

CALIFORNIA  AND  INDIA 

Sn  iRnmniitit  ^Hprrts. 


By  J.    W.    palmer,    M.D., 

aulftar  of  "HSip  nnti  ©oton  tijc  Crraiuatitii ;  or,  Sfjc  Gollicn  ©agon.' 


'  A  Youth  of  Labcr  with  an  Agi  of  Ease." 

GOLDSMITH— TTse  Deserted  Village. 


Wllh  Thirlccu  Illualrationa, 

ENGRAVED    BY    A.     V.     S.     ANTHONY. 

From  Original  DeBlgiu  by  JOHN  McLENAN . 


N  E  ^V      YORK: 

RuDD    &    Car  I,  ETON,    130    Grand    Street, 

London  :  Sampson  Low,  Son  <^-  Co. 

MDCCCI.IX. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1859,  by 

J.   W.   PALMER, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 

District  of  New  York. 


B.   ORAIOHEAD, 
Printer,  Stereoiyper,  mid  Eleclrotyper, 

Carton  Builtiinci, 

81,  83,  <md  85  Centre  Street. 


F   , 

5^5  Tl"^-^ 


cn 


oi 


^ 


^  To 

cn 

5^  My  Generous  Friend, 

§       "  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF  THE  BREAKFAST  TABLE," 

•«< 

tS  Whose    praise    is    a   kind    of    fame. 

CD  ^ 


s- 


260695 


Preface. 


Among  all  sorts  of  travellers  there  is  one  who  has  no  method. 
He  does  not  set  out,  he  gets  away  "any  how;"  and  the  first  you 
know  of  his  intention  to  be  off  to  the  antipodes  is,  that  you 
miss  him  some  day  from  his  accustomed  places.  Brief  leave- 
taking  is  there  in  his  case,  small  sewing-on  of  buttons,  or  putting 
of  himself  to  rights ;  for,  standing  not  upon  the  order  of  his 
going,  he  goes  at  once,  and  the  wonder  of  it  is  over  while  he  is 
yet  scarcely  out  of  sight. 

No  regular  habits  of  traveller's  diet  hinder  him ;  he  has  the 
promiscuous  appetite  of  an  ostrich,  receiving  and  assimilating 
into  his  very  flesh  and  blood  each  most  foreign  impression  as  it 
falls  in  his  way,  with  a  power  of  intellectual  digestion  that  would 


viii  Preface. 

glorify  the  stomach  of  that  ornithological  gourmand.  And  in 
his  own  time,  as  the  whim  may  take  him, 

"  In  a  year  or  two,  or  three  it  may  be," 

like  Lord  Lovel  in  the  ballad,  when 

"  He  rode,  and  he  rode,  on  his  milk-white  steed, 
Strange  countries  for  to  see," 

he  is  with  you  again — but  that  is  not  all,  for  there  your  interest 
in  him  just  begins. 

You  find  that  he  has  brought  back  everything  except  his 
clothes,  and  that  his  mind  and  his  trunk  are  aUke  crammed  with 
the  queerest  curiosities.  Suggestions  of  a  various  remoteness — 
the  grotesque,  the  barbaric,  the  marvellous,  the  stirring,  are 
exhaled  from  his  mere  presence,  as  the  people  of  each  nation 
are  said  to  emit  their  own  pecuHar  odor;  and  though  he  may 
be  as  empty  of  notes  as  a  beggar,  and  has  never  once  seen  a 
pencil  from  first  to  last,  you  perceive  that  he  has  taken  down 
the  very  Song  the  Syrens  sang,  and  caught  the  Memnon's  Morn- 
ing Hymn,  and  fixed  on  the  canvass  of  his  fancy  all  the  wonders 
of  ^Mirage. 

True,  he  did  not  import  these  to  peddle  among  you,  but  yon 
would  buy  them  with  the  best  coin  of  your  understanding  and 
your  sympathy  ;  and  though  he  has  no  facts  and  figures — and  as 
to  the  height  of  mountains  or  breadth  of  rivers,  will  tell  you  he 


Preface.  ix 

■'never  thought  of  that" — and  perhaps  can  render  no  better 
mathematical  account  of  the  Pyramids  than  that  which  Thack- 
eray had  given  you  before — "  two  big  ones  and  a  httle  one" — 
you  are  sure  that  his  memory  is  wonderful  and  his  powers  of 
description  remarkable. 

The  travel  memories  of  such  a  man  as  this,  when  he  has 
quietly  subsided  at  home  to  his  pipe  and  slippers  and  retrospec- 
tions, are  like  all  that  is  most  dreamy  and  weird  in  story,  song, 
or  picture ;  like  the  grimness  of  German  legend,  or  the  fantastic 
profusion  and  confusion,  in  elaborate  hurly-burly,  of  Gustave 
Dore's  designs  for  the  "  Wandering  Jew  ;"  like  the  sad  twilight 
dimness  and  mysterious  deadness  of  tombs  and  ruins  in  stereo- 
scopic views. 

In  an  odd  English  book  I  have  been  reading  lately,  called 
"  Phantastcs :  a  Fairy  Romance  for  Men  and  Women,"  I  have 
found  an  observation,  the  curious  truth  of  which  quite  startled 
me.  It  is  this ;  that  "  all  mirrors  are  magic  mirrors,"  that  the 
commonest  looking-glass  is  a  witch,  transforming  familiar  realities 
into  strange  illusions.     Like  "  Dandy  Jim  ob  Caroline," 

"  I  looked  in  the  itlass  and  I  fonnd  it  so ;" 

found  that  the  other  myself,  whom  I  beheld  there,  was  but  a 
stranger  who  resembled  me,  one  whom  I  would  lain  have  shaken 
hands  with  and  spoken  to ;  for  whom  I  entertained  sympathies 


X  Preface. 

in  the  nature  of  a  longing,  all  tlic  more  intense  because  incom- 
municable— found  that  the  very  furniture,  mocking  my  table, 
bureau,  and  arm-chair,  invited  me  to  step  w^ithin  and  try  the 
di  (Terence. 

The  youth  in  "  Phantastes"  well  nigh  broke  his  heart  because 
he  could  not  gain  admittance  to  that  mystic  chamber.  Even  so 
is  it  with  the  memory — a  magic  mirror — of  him  who  has  laid 
his  hand  ou  the  shoulder  of  the  Boodh,  who  has  called  elephants 
by  their  pet  names,  who  has  listened,  delighted,  to  the  tinkhng 
of  golden  bells,  borne  on  the  breeze  in  gusts  of  mellow  music, 
down  from  the  flashing  pinnacles  of  Pagham  pagodas — and  has 
come  away  from  them  all,  for  ever. 

In  the  magic  mirror  of  his  memory  the  Pyramids  tower  to  a 
stature  that  dwarfs  the  true  and  everlasting  G-yges;  and  the 
marvellous  Taj  Mahal,  which  "  the  Pathans  designed  like  Titans 
and  executed  Uke  jewellers,"  presents  a  bewildering  elaborate- 
ness to  which  its  actual  beauties  are  coarse.  In  the  magic  mirror 
of  his  memory  a  stony  statuesqueness  prevails,  to  produce  an 
effect  the  weirdest  of  all ;  for  there  everything  stands  arrested, 
in  the  attitude  or  gesture  it  presented  at  the  fine  instant  to  which 
his  thought  returns  to  find  it — seized  in  the  midst,  it  may  be, 
of  the  gayest,  most  spirited,  or  most  passionate  action — laugh- 
ter, dance,  rage,  conflict,  and  so  fixed,  as  unchangeable  as  the 
stone  faces  of  the  sfods,  for  ever  and  for  ever : 


Preface.  xi 

"  No  sound  is  made, 
Not  ev«n  of  a  gnat  that  sings; 

More  like  a  picture  soeineth  all, 
Than  those  old  portraits  of  old  kings 

That  watch  the  sleepers  from  the  wall." 

Now,  I  have  imagined  that  if  such  a  man  had  chanced  to  be  the 
first  City  Physician  of  Sau  Francisco,  in  1849,  and  a  few  years 
later  a  Surgeon  in  the  East  India  Company's  Service,  he  would 
have  had  experiences  such  as  those  that  are  here  related; 
although,  compared  with  his  manner  of  relating,  painting,  singing 
them,  mine  may  be  poor  indeed. 

And  in  this  connexion  I  take  leave  to  remark,  that  he  who, 
in  the  character  of  a  romantic  story-teller,  would  describe  effec- 
tively the  events  and  scenes  of  California  in  "  Forty-Nine,"  or 
India  in  "Fifty-Seven,"  may  not  weakly  mince  his  words; 
although  in  allowing  himself  that  freedom  which  the  subject 
seems  to  demand,  it  becomes  him  to  use  it  with  such  discretion  aa 
not  to  offend  "  ears  poUte,"  unless  they  happen  to  be  also  long. 

J.  W.  P. 
New  York,  Api-il  4, 1869. 


Contents. 


-0- 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAOB 

Introductory, 19 

CHAPTER  n. 
The  Fate  of  the  Farleighs, 33 

CHAPTER  III. 
The  Old  Adobe, ...      69 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Pintal, lot 

CHAPTER  Y. 
The  Green  Cloth, ICG 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Mr.  Karl  Joseph  Kraffl, 202 

CHAPTER  Vn. 
Over  the  Pahri, 238 


xiv  Contents. 

CHAPTER   I. 

PAOB 

Mamoul, 261 

CHAPTER  U. 
A  Tiffin  of  Talk 303 

CHAPTER  IIL 
Child-Life  by  the  Ganges, 326 

CHAPTER  rV. 
Asirvadara,  the  Brahmin,. 357 

CHAPTER  V. 
The  Baboo's  Nautch, 398 

CHAPTER  VI. 
The  Adjutant's  Grave, 423 


Illustrations. 


THE  OLD  ADOBE  Frcmtispiece. 

Page 

THE  FAVOIilTE  SHOULDER 34 

THE  PRECIOUS  PICTURE 43 

"ONE  MORE  UNFORTUNATE" 58 

KATE  FARLEIGH  TO  HER  DARLING 63 

THE  DREADFUL  BREAKFAST          .       .        • 104 

THE  SLIPPERS  AND  THE  LOAF 106 

THE  BLUFFER  BLUFFED 1T9 

TOM  CROSS'S  LAST  TRUMP        .  ' 201 

ME.  KARL  JOSEPH  KRAFFT 218 

SNAPPING  A  CAP 231 

THE  SYMBOLS  OF  FORTY-NINE 257 

THE  DUHRNA  WOMAN to  face  294 


The    New. 

[CALIFORNIA.] 

"*     *     ^-     *     What  am  I? 
An  infant  crying  in  the  night. 
An  infant  crying  for  the  hght. 
And  with  no  language  but  a  cry." 

Tennyson — In  Memoriam , 


CHAPTER  I. 


INTRODUCTORY. 


In  1849,  near  the  middle  of  tlie  year,  I  landed  at 
Clarke's  Point,  in  San  Francisco,  with  high  hopes  and 
low  funds — the  lowest  of  funds,  for  the  three  round 
dollars  I  had  just  paid  to  the  gentleman's  son,  with 
the  classical  education  and  the  blue  flannel  shirt,  for 
pulling  me  and  my  chest  ashore  in  his  flat-bottomed 
dinghy,  were  all  that  were  left  of  just  ten  times  that 
many,  with  which  I  was  ballasted  when  I  launched 
at  New  York  upon  my  El  Doradoward  venture. 

"  By  all  means  do  not  encumber  yourselves  with 
luggage,"  urged  our  prudential  advices  from  the 
placers;  and  I  had  obeyed  the  injunction  with  exem- 
plary literalness ;  for,  as  my  sophomore  wheriyman 
tossed  that  imposing  box  ashore  with  a  great  clatter, 
he  remembered  his  Yirgil,  whose — 


20  The  New. 

Rari  nantes  in  gurgite  vasto 

exactly  described  the  shovel,  pick,  and  bowie-knife 
contributed  by  my  brothers,  and  the  shaving-case, 
housewife,  dust-pouch  and  bible,  remembered  by  my 
sisters,  and  now  all  adrift  within  the  capacious  hold 
of  that  clumsy  galliot  of  a  sea-chest.  To  get  my  bag- 
gage to  the  Parker  House,  I  engaged  the  marine 
reporter  of  the  Alta  California,  who  was  timeously  on 
the  wharf  prospecting  for  items.  He  was  paid  with 
the  chest,  which,  considering  the  price  of  fire-wood — 
forty  dollars  a  cord — was  as  much  hire  as  that  journal- 
istic laborer  was  worthy  of.  In  less  than  a  week,  I  was 
wholly  disencumbered  of  luggage,  the  spade  having 
gone  for  one  dinner,  and  the  pick  for  another.  I  had 
slept  three  nights  on  my  shaving-case,  and  was  shaved 
with  my  bowie-knife  instead.  All  that  remained  was 
a  pilot-cloth  pea-jacket,  a  pair  of  corduroy  trowsers, 
and  the  bible,  which,  of  course,  was  of  no  use  to  any- 
body but  the  owner.  At  the  rate  of  twenty-four 
dollars  a  dozen  for  washing,  and  in  view  of  the  ten- 
derness of  my  knuckles,  to  say  nothing  of  some 
hereditary  prejudice  against  the  laundry  as  an  occu- 


Introductory.  21 

pation  for  a  gentleman's  son,  I  rejoiced  when  I  lurd 
fairly  got  my  last  check  shirt  off  my  mind 

All  this  time  I  had  been  looking  about  for  some- 
thing to  do.  My  profession,  medicine,  was  an  impos- 
sibility. I  had  brought  no  dispensary  with  me,  and 
the  last  lot  of  quinine — the  panacea  in  those  days  for 
all  the  ills  that  Californian  flesh  was  heir  to — had 
sold  for  four  ounces  (sixty-four  dollars)  an  ounce  at 
auction.  By  reason  of  rents — one  hundred  dollars  a 
month  for  a  dog-house — an  office  was  not  less  vision- 
ary to  me  than  a  palace.  Besides,  my  appetite  was^ 
growing  fearfully,  and  my  housewife  was  not  good  for 
soup.  In  those  days,  Old  Californians  never  darned, 
or  sewed  buttons  on ;  counting  the  worth  of  time,  it 
was  cheaper  to  buy  new  clothes,  of  which  there  was  a 
great  glut  in  the  market.  Then  the  free  sand-hill, 
where  I  had  slept  at  first,  was  fierce  with  fleas.  My 
skin  was  scarified ;  between  unsparing  irritation  and 
great  loss  of  blood,  my  health  was  failing.  My  phy- 
sician— "that's  me" — strongly  recommended  a  tent,  a 
soft  plank,  and  a  Mackinaw  blanket.  So  I  must 
stop   looking   about  for   somctliing   to   do,    and   set 


22  The   New. 

about  doing  something  at  once.  To  be  sure,  Smithy 
Jones,  or  Brown,  would  have  been  driving  mules 
by  this  time,  or  'tending  bar,  or  peddling  jack-knives 
for  another  man,  or  working  on  a  lighter ;  but  the 
reader  must  remember  that  I  was  a  gentleman's  son. 
How  to  begin,  then  ?  There  were  my  letters  of 
introduction,  neglected  until  now  for  a  much-cuddled 
idea  of  independence.  There  were  six  of  them ;  I 
would  try  them  all — and  I  did.  Five  gentlemen, 
friends  of  the  family,  were  most  happy  to  see  me. 
Five  gentlemen  congratulated  me  on  arriving  out 
so  early ;  I  had  fortune  by  the  fore-lock.  Five 
gentlemen  considered  this  a  splendid  country — great 
openings  for  young  men  of  enterprise  and  talent, 
especially  doctors — ^half  the  population  ill,  and  fees 
enormous — two  ounces  a  visit — medicines  in  propor- 
tion— a  dollar  a  grain  for  quinine,  a  dollar  a  drop  for 
laudanum — wonderful,  sir,  fabulous  ! — really  envied 
me — wished  they  were  doctors  themselves — of  course, 
would  send  all  their  friends  to  me  ;  in  a  week  I 
should  be  overrun  with  patients — would  be  happ}^  to 
advise   me   as   to   investments  —  knew   some   lovely 


Introductory.  23 

water-lots — new  towns  at  head  of  navigation,  only 
ten  miles  from  the  riehcst  mines — sweet  ranchos  in 
the  valley  of  San  Jos^ — that  is,  if  I  was  of  an  agricul- 
tural turn  of  mind — could  raise  potatoes  at  a  dollar 
apiece,  squashes  and  beets  according — must  excuse 
them  now — very  busy — getting  up  lumber  for  the 
new  hotel — under  way  next  week — tip-top  house — 
bridal  chamber — all  the  delicacies  of  the  season — 
come  and  see  them — take  care  of  myself,  old  fellow 
— by-thc-b}'-,  as  I  was  new  to  the  place,  liable  to  be 
bewildered,  tempted — would  just  throw  in  a  friendly 
hint — gambling  in  San  Francisco  universal  and  with- 
out bounds — all  classes  fling  themselves  madly  into 
the  giddy  whirl  of  drink  and  play — doctors,  lawyers, 
editors,  judges,  professors,  divines  —  faro,  roulette, 
rondo,  keeno,  monte,  lansquenet,  bluff— soul-absorb- 
ing, dreadful,  lasciate  ogni  speranza  voi  clii  v'enirate. — 
Dante,  you  know — Hell — splendid — all  right — take 
care  of  myself.  And  that  was  all  I  got  out  of  five  of 
these  friends  of  the  family. 

There  still  remained  one  letter,  from  a  venerable 
fellow-citizen  and  friend  of  my  father,  to  his  son  in 


24 


The  New. 


San  Francisco — a  spirited  young  fellow,  who,  having 
obtained  a  commission  in  one  of  the  new  regiments 
at  the  breaking  out  of  the  Mexican  war,  had  sub- 
sequently distinguished   himself  in   several   engage- 
ments.    At  the  close  of  the  war,  he  was  ordered 
to  California,  where,  though  still  holding  a  military 
appointment,  he  engaged  in  some  successful  specula- 
tions on  private  account,  and  was  said  to  have  built 
up  for  himself  a  considerable  "  pile."     One  evening, 
in  the  Parker  House,  I  recognised  this  gentleman,  as 
much  by  a  marked  family  likeness  as  by  a  certain 
remarkable  scar  by  which  he  had  been  described  to  me. 
Approaching  him  as  he  stood  at  the  bar  selecting  a 
cigar,  I  introduced  myself,  at  the  same  time  presenting 
my  letter,  the  contents  of  which  were  all  unknown 
to  me  ;  for  his  father  had  asked  permission  to  seal  it. 
He  received  me  with  cordiality,  and,  on  reading  the 
missive,   drew  from  his   pocket  three   gold   ounces 
(fifty  dollars),  which  he  offered  to  me,  with  thanks. 
But  immediately,  observing  my  unaffected  surprise, 
he  explained  that  the  letter  contained  a  request  that 
he  would  pay  to  me  these  fifty  dollars,  due  for  several 


Introductory,  25 

years  to  my  fatlicr,  wlio  foi-  some  unexplained  reason, 
to  be  found  in  the  private  relations  of  the  two  old 
friends,  could  never  bo  induced  to  accept  it.  Never- 
theless, the  father  wrote,  the  debt  was  a  bona  fide  one, 
and  its  long-standing  troubled  him  much ;  so  he  urged 
his  son  to  press  the  money  upon  me,  and  that  gentle- 
man did  so  with  unexceptionable  delicacy. 

At  first  I  resolutely  declined  to  accept  the  money, 
on  the  ground  that  I  could  not  meddle  with  my 
father's  affairs ;  he  knew  his  own  business  best,  and 
liad,  no  doubt,  good  reasons  for  the  stand  he  had 
taken  in  this  amiable  dispute.  Perhaps  his  excellent 
friend  was  mistaken  in  supposing  bimself  the  debtor 
— in  so  long  an  account  of  ffiendly  offices  inter- 
changed between  two  such  ancient  and  honorable 
cronies,  the  result  might  easily  be  the  other  way.  At 
all  events,  my  father,  on  handing  me  this  letter,  had 
not  named  the  matter  :  consequently  I  was  not  at 
liberty  to  run  counter  to  his  apparent  intention. 

But  the  captain  treated  the  affair  more  seriously. 
On  my  side,  he  urged,  was  merely  vague  surmise. 
On  his,  there  was  the  clear  and  positive  expression  of 


26  The  New. 

the  paternal  wish.  His  father,  he  said,  had  suffered 
much,  and  was  going  down  hill  fast.  He  even  feared 
that  the  next  mail  would  bring  him  news  of  the  old 
man's  death.  He  had  been,  he  confessed,  a  wilful, 
almost  a  cruel  son,  with  some  crimes  of  perverse 
selfishness  and  ingratitude,  of  which  to  convict  him- 
self There  was  no  chance  that  he  would  again  be- 
hold his  father  alive.  He  therefore  desired  sacredly 
to  obey  his  commands,  in  the  most  apparently  trifling 
matter,  and  rejoiced  in  every  opportunity  to  console 
himself  so — in  fine,  he  pressed  me,  on  the  score  of 
kindness,  to  permit  him  to  pay  this  money. 

Still  undetermined,  I  leaned  with  my  back  against 
the  bar,  and  looked  through  the  noisy  throng  of  old 
miners  and  new  arrivals,  into  the  gambling  saloon 
beyond,  where  players  of  all  countries,  complexions, 
and  temperaments  were  gathered,  in  earnest  but  quiet 
knots,  around  faro,  roulette,  and  monte  tables,  with 
their  dazzling  banks.  An  idea,  full  of  a  pleasurable 
excitement,  seized  me.  The  cards,  thought  I,  shall 
decide  this  amiable  contest. 

"  Captain,"  I  said,  "  I  have  never  bet  a  sixpence 


Introductory.  27 

oil  a  card  in  my  life.  Since  I  arrived  here  I  liavc 
not  once  looked  on  at  play,  even  as  a  merely  curicnis 
spectator.  I  do  not  know  this  game  of  monte,  I  have 
never  known  any  game  of  cards.  Now  monte  shall 
dispose  of  these  three  rascally  ounces  for  us,  more 
troublesome  than  the  poet's  Qiuli  Tre.  I  will  stake 
them  on  a  card ;  if  they  are  lost,  there  will  be  an  end 
of  our  dispute,  and  you  can  tell  your  father  you  paid 
me.     If  they  win,  we  will  divide  the  spoils." 

"  Agreed !  and  you  will  be  sure  to  win — the  Devil 
is  always  kind  to  the  green  gamester." 

"We  approached  a  table  where  already  a  competing 
throng  was  gathered,  eagerly  feeding  the  monster 
with  dollars,  ounces,  greater  or  lesser  pouches  of  dust. 
The  table  was  covered  with  green  baize,  on  which 
four  equal  squares  were  described,  by  means  of  a 
strip  of  gold  braid.  In  the  midst  was  a  bank  of  per- 
haps twenty  thousand  dollars  in  coin  and  dust.  Pre- 
sently the  used-up,  listless,  yawning  dealer,  who  sat 
behind  his  bank,  with  a  revolver  at  his  back,  some 
brandy  and  water  at  his  elbow,  and  a  long  cigar  held 
almost  perpendicularly  between  his   tight  lips — and 


28  The  New. 

managed  too,  with  a  sort  of  skill,  so  that  the  burning 
end  came  within  half  an  inch  of  the  corner  of  his 
right  eye,  which  was  closed,  with  that  extraordinary, 
swaggering  conceit,  peculiar  to  the  soap-lock  orders 
of  the  Bowery — presently  this  very  fancy  personage 
tossed  from  the  pack  of  small  Mexican  cards,  which 
he  had  just  shuffled  elaboratel}^,  four  "  papes"  as  he 
called  them,  and  which  he  more  particularly  described 
as  "  el  ray,  shayty,  sinkwee  and  kervaiyo," — that  is 
king,  seven,  five,  and  horse  :  this  last  being,  I  believe, 
peculiar  to  the  monte  cards.  Then,  "gents"  were 
invited  to  "  make  their  game,"  or  more  facetiously,  to 
"  size  their  piles,"  or  to  "  pungalee  down,"  which 
the  Spanish  scholar  will  discover  to  be  a  sort  of  fancy 
Castilian,  proper  to  the  latitude  of  San  Fran- 
cisco. 

Gentlemen  did  "  pungalee  down,"  according  to 
their  substance  or  their  tempers,  and  I,  with  several 
others  (for  the  card  seemed  a  favorite  one)  staked  all 
my  three  ounces  on  the  seven.  Then  the  dealer 
rapped  with  his  knuckles  on  the  table  to  call  down 
the  last  bets;  but  no  more  appearing,  he  began  to 


Introductory.  29 

draw,  very  slowly,  one  card  at  a  time  from  the  top 
of  the  pack  he  held  in  his  liand,  and  to  dispose  tliciii 
before  him  alternately,  on  a  winning  and  a  losing  pile. 
As  a  card  corresponding  to  one  in  a  square  fell  on  tlie 
right  or  the  left  hand  pile,  he  called  its  name,  and 
cither  paid  the  stake,  or  swept  it  into  his  bank.  Thus 
the  king,  the  five,  and  the  "  kervaiyo"  lost ;  but  the 
seven  won,  and  my  three  ounces  were  six. 

The  cards  being  shuffled,  four  more  are  thrown 
out,  and  again  the  seven  is  among  them.  Oni^e  more 
"gents"  are  requested  to  "pungalee  down,"  and  I, 
choosing  to  add  a  spice  of  vulgar  diablerie  to  my 
adventure,  select  the  seven  again  for  all  six  of  my 
ounces,  and  invoke  the  favor  of  witches. 

Seven  wins — I  draw  off  twelve  beautiful  doubloons. 
Next  deal,  no  seven ;  so  I  wait.  And  now  I  have  it; 
a  round  dozen  of  ounces  is  my  stake ;  I  become  an 
object  of  interest  to  the  bystanders,  some  of  wliom 
evidently  consider  me,  if  not  handsome,  certainly  a 
superior  sort  of  fellow.  Seven  wins,  of  course.  IMy 
three  bothersome  ounces  have  become  twenty -four 
splendid  doubloons — round,  yellow,  and  heavy — fiir 


30 


The  New. 


to  see  and  pleasant  to  hear — their  chnk  more  soothing- 
musical  than  the  jug  of  many  nightingales — 

"Gold!  gold!  gold!  gold! 
Bright  and  yellow,  hard  and  cold, 
Molten,  graven,  hammered,  roll'd ; 
Heavy  to  get,  and  light  to  hold ; 
Hoarded,  bartered,  bought  and  sold. 
Stolen,  borrowed,  squandered,  doled; 
Spurned  by  the  young,  but  hugg'd  by  the  old 
To  the  very  verge  of  the  churchyard  mould ; 
Price  of  many  a  crime  untold ; 
Gold!  gold!  gold!  gold!— 
Good  or  bad  a  thousand  fold !" 

Three  hundred  and  eighty-four  dollars !  and  since 
my  breakfast  the  day  before,  I  had  not  eaten  a 
morsel !  I  fairly  blessed  the  Devil  ;  and  as  for  the 
number  Seven,  I  set  him  up  on  a  throne  of  philo- 
sopher's stone,  with  the  crown  of  Midas  on  his  head 
and  a  brimmer  of  vino  d'oro  in  his  hand.  And  the 
captain,  princely  fellow,  worthy  to  be  king  of  the 
diggings,  waived  his  right  to  share  with  me.  He  had 
plenty,  he  said,  displaying  a  pocketful  of  doubloons, 


Introductory.  3I 

and  a  nugget  as  big  as  a  doughnut.  New-comers  were 
not  usually  suffering  with  a  surplus,  and  he  dared  say 
I  had  not  more  than  a  few  hundred  dollars.  I  should 
need  it  all  to  start  with ;  when  his  pile  should  tumble, 
he  would  be  happy  in  holding  me  his  debtor  to  the 
extent  of  a  dozen  ounces  or  so. 

I  condescended  to  accept  his  terms,  and  the  same 
hour  next  day  saw  me  flourishing  a  professional 
shingle  on  the  broad  side  of  an  adobe  house  in  Sacra- 
mento street,  and  a  professional  card  in  the  most 
imposing  and  attractive  style  in  the  Alta  California. 
I  had  soon  a  lucrative  private  practice;  from  seventy- 
five  to  a  hundred  dollars  was  not  too  much  to  earn 
in  a  day,  when  an  exclusive  pen  in  Howe's  circus 
cost  fifty-five  dollars,  when  ten  dollars  was  demanded 
for  the  plainest  of  dinners  at  Wheeler's,  when  stout 
boots  cost  forty  dollars  a  pair,  and  potatoes  a  dollar  a 
pound — to  say  nothing  of  spurious  champagne  at  ten 
dollars  a  bottle,  and  five  dollars  for  the  honor  of  Pro- 
fessor Lewis  Thompson's  tonsorial  fingers  in  your 
hair.  Very  soon  I  added  to  my  private  duties  a  cer- 
tain ofTicial  ap})ointmcnt,  by  which,  between  the  day 


32  The  New, 

when  I  first  entered  San  Francisco  without  a  dime, 
and  the  day  when  I  left  it,  also  without  a  dime,  I 
was  introduced  to  more  of  the  pathos  and  tragedy  of 
that  city  in  1849-50,  than  any  other  person  on  the 
spot.  I  have,  therefore,  some  stories  to  relate,  which, 
if  not  as  well  told  as  Samuel  Warren's,  shall  be  at 
least  as  true. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  FATE  OF  THE   FARLEIGHS. 

Old  Californians — ^I  mean  San  Franciscans  of 
1849 — will  not  soon  forget  the  building  known  as 
AVasbington  Hall,  wtiicli  stood  in  the  rear  of  the  old 
Alia  California  office,  about  midway  on  the  Washing- 
ton street  side  of  the  Plaza,  and  adjoining  the  Bella 
Union,  that  worst  of  Californian  hells,  where  the 
Winters  murder  was  done,  and  a  score  of  crimes 
beside,  any  one  of  them  enough  to  startle  even  the 
steady  nerves  of  San  Francisco.  This  Washington 
Hall,  opened  by  a  circus  clown,  was  consecrated  to 
the  high  holidays  of  unchecked  licentiousness.  Bac- 
chus reigned  below  and  divided  his  realm  with  the 
Blind  Goddess.  On  the  upper  floor  Terpsichore  had 
a  ball-room  to  herself,  where  sometimes  a  party  of 

Ethiopian  serenaders   were   met    in    the    name    of 

2* 


34 


The  New. 


Momus ;  and  in  tlic  rear  tlio  Venus  de  Oro  had  her 
easy  pcnctraha. 


t   K 


Hither  I  was  called  one  f* 


7' 


^^  ) 


night  to  attend  a  Creole  girl  from  New  Orleans, 
who  had  just  been  stabbed,  at  a  masked  ball  in  the 
saloon,  by  a  jealous  Chilena. 


The  Fate  of  the  Farleighs.  35 

I  found  the  beautiful  fury — Cumillc  La  Reine,  they 
called  her — blaspheming  over  a  gashed  shoulder,  and 
devoting  the  quick-striking  vixen  of  Valparaiso  to  a 
hundred  fates,  any  one  of  which  vied  in  novelty  of 
horror  with  the  most  esteemed  inventions  of  Mr.  G. 
W.  licynolds  or  Mr.  Geo.  Lippard.  Her  round, 
white,  dimpled,  dangerous  shoulder  lay,  along  with 
the  black  drift  of  her  hair,  in  a  slab  pool  of  her  own 
bad  blood. 

The  handsome  wretch  cursed,  between  the  sharp 
stitches  of  my  suture  needle,  at  the  Adams'  revolver 
that  had  hung  fire,  and  the  blood  that  had  got  in  her 
eyes.  And  La  Reine  Camille  was  in  earnest ;  for  six 
weeks  after  that,  the  Pacific  News  announced  that  the 
notorious  Mariquita,  the  beautiful  Chilian  spitfire,  had 
had  her  throat  cut  with  a  bowie-knife,  in  the  hands 
of  the  splendid  Creole  Camille,  in  a  "difficulty"  at 
one  of  those  mad  masked  balls  at  La  Senorita 
saloon. 

It  was  many  days  before  Camille's  wound  was 
sufficiently  healed  to  be  trusted  to  her  own  nursing, 
and  during  that  time  I  usually  inade  my  visits  to  her 


36  The  New. 

early  in  the  evening,  as  I  returned  from  my  profes- 
sional walks  about  Clarke's  Point,  and  among  the 
Chilian  tents  on  Pacific  street;  so  that  I  found  the  fair 
frailties  of  Washington  Hall  gathered  in  the  ball- 
room, and  the  dance  proceeding  to  the  music  of 
much  catgut,  and  the  popping  of  multitudinous 
corks.  This  was  well-nigh  the  most  convenient,  if 
not  the  chastest,  of  reunions.  If  you  desired  to  con- 
sult Judge  Brown  in  reference  to  your  Colton  titles, 
here  was  the  place  to  meet  that  learned  jurist ;  if  you 
wished  to  compare  opinions  with  Dr.  Jones  as  to  the 
nature  of  the  wounds  of  the  man  found  murdered  on 
the  Mission  Koad,  you  could  seek  in  no  more  likely 
place  for  that  eminent  member  of  the  fliculty ;  or,  in 
case  you  had  an  item  of  murder,  suicide,  or  accidental 
death  for  the  City  man  of  the  Alia,  you  would  be 
sure  to  find  him  taking  notes  at  Washington  Hall  on 
a  ball-night. 

Once,  as  I  leaned  against  the  orchestra  railing, 
regarding,  by  turns,  the  deep  drinking  at  the  bar,  tlie 
heavy  betting  at  monte,  and  the  wild  license  of  the 
dance,  my  eye  fell  upon  a  woman  who  seemed  out 


The  Fate  ot"  the   Faiicighs.  37 

of  place  ill  that  sensuous  scene,  and  hopefully 
wretched  there :  a  tall  and  singularly  graceful  person 
— by  no  means  spare,  yet  with  the  slenderest  waist  I 
ever  saw — face  not  handsome,  nor  the  reverse,  but 
rather  what  detracting  women  call  interesting — eyes 
quite  lovely,  dark  and  deeply  fringed — mouth  melt- 
ing and  pitifully  weak — hands  and  feet  especially 
delicate — truly  a  superb,  and  yet  a  most  painful 
dancer.  With  what  a  graceful  weariness  she  dragged 
her  stately,  rather  than  heavy,  steps  through  the 
French  quadrille  !  How  like  a  corpse — grave,  pale, 
abstracted,  with  cold  lips  and  eyes  unspeculative — 
she  suffered  herself  to  be  whirled  in  the  giddy  circles 
of  the  German  waltz,  in  the  clutch  of  some  tipsy 
satyr,  too  far  gone  to  perceive  the  reproachful  calm- 
ness of  his  partner's  bosom,  and  the  unseasonable 
temperature  of  her  blood !  How  like  the  very  giiost 
of  a  bacchanal,  with  her  motions  merely,  but  not 
emotions,  she  jSung  herself  desperately  into  the  brave 
abandon  of  the  Spanish  dance,  flashing  her  soft 
white  shoulders,  beautifully  balancing  her  pensile 
arms,  proudly  careering  her  conquering  neck ! 

269Gn5 


38  The  New. 

Presently  au  intermission,  and  tlie  dancers  move 
toward  the  bar  and  refreshment  table.  Only  she, 
withdrawing  her  hand  from  her  partner's  arm, 
declines  partaking  of  wine  and  viands,  and  retires 
wearily  to  a  dim  corner,  away  from  all  the  rest, 
indifferently  rebuflang,  too,  her  cavalier,  who  has 
somethmg  sophisticated  to  grumble  about  the  "old 
dodge  "  and  "  so  like  an  Englishwoman."  And  now, 
I  truly  do  see  the  Englishwoman  in  the  nattily- 
turned  ancle,  the  generous  expanse  of  back,  the 
warm  companionable  shoulders,  the  complete  bosom, 
and  well  inflated  chest. 

With  head  thrown  back  and  eyes  closed,  or 
vacantly  fixed  on  the  ceiling,  she  sits  for  a  time 
silent,  still,  or  only  moved  by  a  profound  sigh. 
Here  may  be  a  clever  artiste,  now,  I  thought — a 
person  habile  and  well-trained  to  her  part.  Even  in 
that  view  of  her,  she  is  interesting.  How  much 
more  so  if,  for  a  marvel,  she  be  no  actress  at  all, 
playing  no  part  but  her  heart's!  Let  us  see.  I 
watched  her  narrowly  and  unobserved.  Presently — 
hurrah !  yes,  by  Jove,  tears — ^tears,  as  I  am  a  gentle- 


The  Fate  of  the  Faiieighs.  39 

man,  with  taste  to  enjoy  them! — honest,  too,  I'll 
swear,  they  are  so  ill-timed  and  unprofitable!  They 
stand  for  an  instant,  round  and  bright,  on  the  verge 
of  lier  long  lashes,  then  topple  over  by  their  own 
weight,  and  roll  down  her  cheeks,  never  stopping 
till  they  have  fallen  upon  her  hand.  She  brushes 
away  the  tracks  of  them  impatiently  —  good!  — 
rouses  herself  with  an  unmistakably  genuine  effort, 
and  hurries  with  an  air  of  concealment,  and  even 
awkwardly,  across  the  room — I  following  her  unper- 
ceived,  through  knots  of  drinkers  and  love-makers, 
never  heeding  their  invitations  or  inquiries,  to  the 
dOor ;  then  through  the  long  passage  to  the  rear  of 
the  building,  where,  with  a  key  drawn  from  the 
pocket  of  her  dress,  she  opens  a  door,  which,  on 
entering,  she  locks  within.  I  take  note  of  the  room, 
and  accost  a  black-eyed  Yankee  witch  to  ask  who 
occupies  it. 

"Lucy  Mason,  the  new  English  girl.  Do  you 
know  her  ?  " 

"No." 

"No   more   do   any   of  us — queer  case — pity,    I 


40 


TIk,'  New. 


tliink— drcaJfiil  mopy,  dreadful— never  do  here — 
better  be  dead.  You  dare  say  she  wishes  she  was  ? 
Then  why  don't  she  go  and  die?  But  never  mind 
her  now.     Come,  treat,  and  I'll  dance  with  you. 

"  Oh,  Susannah,  don't  you  cry  for  me ; 
I'm  bound  for  Kahforny  with  my  baby  on  my  knee." 

Kext  day — my  head,  and  part  of  my  heart  I  hope, 
full  of  Lucy  Mason~I  went  early  in  the  forenoon  to 
see  La  Eeine  Camille ;  wound  much  better — temper, 
if  possible,  worse.  Her  majesty  threatens  to  shoot 
me  if  I  even  so  much  as  tickle  her  in  changing  the 
dressings,  and  swears  she'll  have  my  heart's  blood"  if 
I  leave  a  scar  on  the  best  shoulder  in  California — her 
favorite  shoulder,  the  one  she  does  her  archness  with. 
I  assure  the  fair  and  royal  fire-eater  that  I  take  no 
less  interest  in  her  wounded  shoulder  than  if  it  were 
her  throat,  and  am  even  more  concerned  for  its 
recovery.     Whereat  I  leave,  just  in  time. 

In  the  bar-room,  to  my  astonishment — disappoint- 
ment at  first,  and  satisfaction  afterward — I  found 
Lucy  ^Mason  drinking,  flushed  already  to  noisy  mer- 


Tlic   Fate  ot  the   Farlciirlis.  41 


'to' 


rimcnt,  clinking  champagne  glasses  with  the  bar- 
maid, singing  snatches  of  curious  old  English  ballads, 
love-ditties  mostly,  and  all  new  to  me — loud,  com- 
municative, reckless.  Could  this  be  my  interesting 
mockery  and  moral  of  last  night's  ball  ?  No  doubt ; 
and  never  more  the  same  than  at  this  very  moment 
of  shocking  self-abandoment. 

Presently  observing  a  flaunting  portrait  breast-pin 
in  the  bar-girl's  bosom,  she  bade  h^r  stay  and  she 
would  show  her  "  a  picture  that  was  painted  in 
heaven."  Then  she  ran  to  her  room  and  I  followed 
her.  At  the  door  I  met  her  with  a  small  cabinet 
portrait  in  her  hand;  her  face  wore  a  triumphant 
look,  as  she  was  hurrying  back  to  her  comrade  with 
the  wonder.  Taking  her  tenderly  but  firmly  by  the 
wrist,  she  staring  in  my  face  in  mute  amazement,  I 
led  her  to  a  seat  on  a  large  chest,  tlien  locked  the 
door  inside  and  took  my  place  beside  her.  I  bade 
her  give  me  the  picture  in  my  hand.  She  thrust  it 
into  her  bosom  and  held  her  hand  upon  it  there,  her 
eyes  wild,  and  full  of  alarmed  inquiry. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  she  asked. 


42  The  New. 

"  A  gentleman,  a  doctor,  a  friend  of  yours,  if 
you'll  allow  me  to  prove  it." 

"  Camille's  doctor  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Why  did  you  not  let  lier  die  ?" 

"Because  I  was  sent  for  to  keep  her  from  dying; 
that's  my  business." 

"  And  her  business  is  to  unfit  herself  to  live." 

"  Quite  as  much  to  unfit  herself  to  die." 

"  Very  likely.     What  do  you  want  with  me  ?" 

"  To  admire  you — to  make  your  acquaintance." 

"  Not  worth  your  while,  and  not  agreeable  to  me." 

"What  ails  you?" 

"  Nothing;  not  even  drunk — though  that's  not  my 
fault." 

"  Let  me  see  your  picture  ?" 

"  You  swear  you  will  not  touch  it." 

"  Positively  I  will  not." 

She  laid  one  of"  her  hands  mistrustingly  on  mine, 
and  with  the  other  held  up  before  me — but  at  a  safe 
distance,  and  as  if  ready  to  snatch  it  away  on  she 
least  suspicious  movement  on  my  part — a  small  water- 


The  Fate  of  the   Farleifihs. 


43 


color  sketch  of  a  beautiful  child — a  boy,  with  large 
blue  eyes  and  fair  curling  hair,  remarkably  like  her- 
self in  every  feature,  especially  the  mouth — timid, 
credulous,  helpless — poor  little  wretch  ! 


"  This  is  your 
child." 

The  reader  will  perceive  that  the  guess,  though  a 
bold  one,  was  safe. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?" 


44  The  New. 

"Bj  the  pity  I  feci  for  it.  Is  this  its  birthday? 
and  are  you  keeping  it  by  getting  drunk  before 
dinner?" 

She  turned  on  me  a  sharp,  startled  stare.  Then 
suddenly  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  she  sob- 
bed violently,  her  whole  frame  agitated  and  con- 
vulsed. 

"  Oh,  God !  oh,  God !"  she  groaned.  "  It  is,  indeed, 
his  birthday.  How  did  you  know  it?  Who  told 
you?  Who  knows  it  here ?  AVhat  do  you  know  of 
me  ?  Where  have  you  seen  him  ?  You — you — you 
are  not  a  friend  of ?" 

My  random  thrust  had  struck  home.  Ilap-hazard, 
I  had  reached  the  mother's  heart.  Now,  I  was  safe 
to  know  all,  and  perhaps — It  was  always  the  dearest 
wish  of  my  heart  to  recover  one  lost  woman.  I  was 
too  sanguine  that  time;  but  I  do  not  despair  yet. 
The  chance  will  come. 

"  It  was  the  bursting  heart  and  the  burning  brain. 
I  drank  to  save  my  senses,  I  should  have  gone  mad 
on  his  birthday.  Why  was  it  not  his  deathday  ?  Oh 
no,  sir;  indeed,  indeed,  I  swear  I  have  not  come  to 


The  Fate  of  the  Farlcighs.  45 

that  yet.     I  am  neither  sot  nor  thief,  nor  ever  shall 
be.     I  have  provided  against  that.     /  sliall  not  have 

*'  Do  you  wish  to  leave  this  house  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Why  ?" 

"  Because  it's  the  best  of  its  kind  in  this  city  :  the 
treatment  good  and  visitors  plenty." 

"  But  for  a  house  of  another  kind,  a  respectable 
shop,  a  gentleman's  family  ?  I  believe  there  is  more 
than  one  door  in  San  Francisco — which,  by  that  same 
token,  thank  heaven  !  is  neither  New  York  nor  Lon- 
don— o})en  to  such  as  3^ou." 

"  And  when  you  find  one,  such  as  I,  who  will 
accept  the  invitation  to  pass  from  this  door  to  that, 
don't  you  trust  her — I  tell  you,  don't  you  trust  her ; 
she's  a  shameless  liar  and  a  hypocrite,  and  your 
friends  will  find  her  a  mocker,  and  a  brazen  thief." 

"  Where  are  you  from — England  or  the  colonies  ? 
And  how  did  you  get  here,  to  this  city  and  this 
house?" 

"  For  what  purpose  do  you  wish  to  know?" 


46  The  New. 

"  To  help  you  if  I  can,  in  this  house  or  out  of  it — 
on  my  honor !" 

"  Come  to-morrow  morning,  and  perhaps  I  will  tell 
you.  You  are  cither  a  great  fool  or  a  great — philan- 
thropist." 

"  Neither." 

"  How  did  you  know  that  this  was  my  boy's  birth- 
day?" 

"  That  is  nothing.  I  know  much  more  about  you. 
But  when  you  talk  to  me  of  your  affairs,  and  I  catch 
you  lying,  I  shall  not  let  you  see  that  I  am  laughing 
at  your  stupidity  and  bungling.  For  all  that,  you 
will  respect  and  obey  me,  more  or  less,  from  this  time. 
To-morrow,  then,     Good-by." 

Next  day,  true  to  our  appointment,  I  called  on 
Lucy  at  her  room.  I  found  her  strangely  improved 
since  our  extraordinary  conversation.  She  seemed  to 
have  been  wholesomely  chastened,  even  in  that  brief 
interval — was  simple,  unaffected,  much  softened,  with- 
out that  forced  air  of  indifference  or  defiance — modest, 
grateful,  candid,  trusting,  sad  but  earnest.  She  began 
by  reminding  me  that  she  had  promised  only  with  a 


The  Fate  of  the  Farleighs.  .(y 

"perhaps"  to  relate  her  story.  She  had  informed 
herself,  meantime,  of  my  character  and  probable 
motive,  and  the  "perhaps"  was  removed.  She  pro- 
ceeded. 

She  was  an  Englishwoman,  as  I  had  perceived  at 
first — married  ;  her  husband's  name  was  Farleigh,  an 
apothecary  in  good  standing,  skilful,  and  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  an  honorable  and  profitable  reputation  in 
Australia,  whither  they  had  sailed  but  a  few  days 
after  their  marriage.  In  that  land  of  promise  he  very 
soon  built  up  for  himself  a  lucrative  business,  and 
became  the  sole  master  of  an  extensive  establishment 
with  branches  at  all  the  principal  ports.  She  herself 
had  been  a  lady's  companion  in  England ;  but  in 
Australia,  in  spite  of  her  youth,  she  entered  into 
business  and  conducted  a  dress-making  establishment, 
which  also  soon  obtained  character  and  profitable 
custom.  Her  husband,  she  said,  was  none  of  her 
choosing,  but  "  a  highly  eligible,"  unfairly  foisted 
upon  her  by  a  mercenary  mother:  a  little  man — 
scarcely  up  to  her  shoulder;  awkward,  and  every 
way  insignificant;  stupid,   too,  in  all  matters  apart 


48  The  New. 

from  Ins  business;  in  temper  querulous,  petulant, 
jealous,  exacting— a  fidgety  person,  witli  whom  there 
was  no  rest;  timid,  besides,  which  w^as  worst  of  all  in 
tlie  estimation  of  a  vain,  romantic  girl,  flattered,  and 
fed  on  whims.  Farleigh  never  meant  to  be,  and 
rarely  was,  an  unkind  husband  ;  he  was  only  a  very 
uncomfortable  and  disagreeable  man.  Before  their 
child  was  born  she  had  never  loved,  but  easily 
endured  him.  After  its  birth,  she  learned  to  feel 
quite  tenderly  towards  hun;  it  was  the  strangest 
thing,  she  said,  but  somehow  she  found  herself,  with- 
out an  effort,  with  scarcely  the  w^ish  on  her  part, 
almost  loving  him — but  then  she  could  no  longer 
tolerate  him ;  that  child  made  them  fire  and  tow  to 
each  other,  and  they  broke  out  in  flames  as  often  as 
they  met  over  it. 

At  last,  Farleigh  made  a  new  friend  and  brought 
him  home — Harton,  mate  of  an  English  packet — a 
handsome,  bright,  ardent,  adventure-loving  fellow, 
full  of  warm  feelings  and  good  stories,  and  very  free 
with  his  neck  when  danger  was  to  be  run  into.  This 
Harton   was  her   coming   man,  the  very   man   she 


The  Fate  of  the  Farleighs.  ^C) 

ouglit  to  liavc  met  long  ago,  and  she  was  by  no 
means  slow  to  love  him  because  he  did  not  happen  to 
arrive  in  legal  time.  Then  she  was  notoriously  turned 
into  the  street,  her  stock  of  goods  sold  under  the  ham- 
mer, Farleigh  retaining  the  proceeds — and  a  sight  of 
her  child  from  that  hour  denied  her.  She  took  refuge 
with  a  fellow-sufferer.  Ilarton  lost  caste  to  such  a 
degree  that  the  place  became  too  hot  to  hold  him  ;  so 
he  sailed  for  the  land  of  gold,  bidding  her  follow  him 
in  the  next  ship,  and  leaving  her  a  sum  of  money 
sufficient  to  pay  her  passage.  He  would  meet  her, 
he  promised,  when  her  shijj's  anchor  was  let  go  in  the 
harbor  of  San  Francisco.  She  obediently  followed 
his  instructions  and  him  ;  but  from  the  day  of  his 
sailing  she  had  never  seen  him,  or  heard  from  or  of 
him.  He  might  be  gone  to  some  new  and  remote 
placers  whence  correspondence  was  difficult  or  im- 
possible ;  he  might  be  dead  ;  he  might  have  deserted 
her  ;  God  only  knew  ;  with  all  her  heart,  she  hoped 
tlie  second  fate  for  him. 

Well,  she  landed  without  money  or  friends,  quite 
at   her  wits'  end — crazed    with    fear   and   helpless- 


^o  The  New. 

ness.     In  those  days  there  were  no  milliners  in  San 
Francisco,  no  ladies'  shops,  no  fashionable  emporiums 
or  bazaars — only  bars,  bars,  bars,  decanters  and  tum- 
blers,   lemon-squeezers,   muddlers   and    straws,    with 
here  and  there  a  bar-maid.    There  now !  she  would  be 
a  bar-maid.     Harton,  like  many  another  sailor-man, 
was   a   veritable   magician   over   a  bowl.      He   had 
taught  her  how  to  do  many  delectable  things  with 
tumblers.     And  when  he  reappeared,  he  would  be 
delighted  to  find  that  his  merry  instruction  had  served 
her  in  good  stead,  in  such  an  awkward  strait.     Be- 
sides, in  England  a  bar-maid  was  highly  respectable. 
How  precious  must  she  be  in  this   uni-sexed  fair! 
Only  to  think,  too,  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars, 
£30  a  month — and  board,  lodging,  and  washing,  all 
free.     And  what  was  it  to  be  a  bar-maid  ?     Oh,  she 
knew  all  about  that.     It  was  to  have  a  nice  face  and 
a  trim  waist,   a  quick  saucy  eye,  sharp  ears,  nimble 
fingers,  and  plenty  of  presence  of  mind.     Of  course, 
she  would  be  a  San  Francisco  bar-maid  (Heaven  save 
the  mark !),  in  Washington  Hall  too,  for  thirty  pounds 
a  month  ;  and  naturally — ^here  she  was. 


The  Fate  of  the  Farleighs.  ^i 

"  Well,  and  what  did  she  propose  to  do  ?" 
"  To  see  her  fate  out "  (her  exact  words),  "  and  for 
the  present  to  remain  where  she  was.  Gold  was 
plenty  and  lovers  generous.  Six,  twelve,  twenty 
ounces  at  a  time  for  the  merest  trifles.  A  smile  was 
bait  for  a  dozen  minnows,  and  a  triton  was  caught 
with  a  kiss.  Ounces,  ounces,  nothing  but  ounces. 
She  had  a  lap  full,  a  trunk  full,  already — all  safe  at 
Burgoyne's." 

"  Did  she  never  look  ahead  ?" 
"  Often,  and  easily  saw  to  the  end.     It  was  not  far, 
and  the  way  was  paved  with  gold." 

"  Would  she  not  accept  the  countenance  and  pro- 
tection of  worthy  and  kind  people,  a  virtuous  home, 
honest  companionship — for  her  child's  sake  ?" 

"  No,  no,  no  I     For  her  child's  sake  especially,  no." 
"  How  did  she  expect  the  end  to  be  ?" 
"  As  she  would  shape  it.     At  present  she  would 
answer  no  more  questions." 

Nor  would  she  ever  arain.     ThouQ-h  I  often  saw 

O  O 

her,  and  she  met  me  always  with  a  cordial,  beaming 
welcome,  full  of  beautiful  confidence  and  gratitude. 


^2  The  New. 

so  that  licr  fellow-lodgers  declared  she  could  tell  mj 
step  on  the  stairs  among  a  hundred,  and,  leaving  any 
companion  or  occupation,  would  run  joyfully  to  meet 
me — and  though,  in  accordance  with  a  promise  I  had 
exacted  from  her,  she  never  drank  again,  nor  was  (at 
least  not  grossly)  indecorous  in  language  or  manner — 
still  she  invariably  parried  my  slightest,  and  merely 
experimental,  passages  of  examination,  sometimes 
with  provoking  jests,  sometimes  with  adroit  diver- 
sions, sometimes  with  undisguised  anger. 

At  this  time  I  was  living  at  the  Grason  House,  on 
the  comer  of  Kearney  and  Pacific  streets.  To  Wash- 
ington Hall  direct,  along  Kearney  street,  was  but  two 
blocks— Jackson  street,  exactly  intermediate,  dividing 
the  ground.  On  the  corner  of  Jackson  street  was 
Stolberger's  market— Stolberger,  king  of  specula- 
tors, terrible  flour  and  beef  monopolist — the  great 
American  smart  man,  who  would  have  bought  the 
Sandwich  Islands  for  a  watering-place,  charming 
resort  for  invalids — "  spacious  hotel,  safe  sea-bathing," 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing— if  he  could  only  have  seen 
how  not  to  pay  for  them. 


The  Fate  of  the  Farlcighs.  5^ 

One  day  I  stopped  at  this  market-house  in  company 
with  Major  Floyd,  our  hotel  caterer,  who  was  receiving 
proposals  to  have  his  table  supplied  with  bear's  meat, 
sturgeon,  and  Monterey  muscles,  when  a  man  in  his 
shirt-sleeves  and  with  a  pen  behind  his  ear,  evidently 
an  employe  of  the  establishment,  accosted  me  by- 
name, and,  referring  to  my  public  appointment, 
inquired  if  I  did  not  fill  that  office.  On  being 
answered  in  the  affirmative,  he  stated  that  he  was  an 
English  apothecary,  licentiate  of  Apothecary's  Ilall ; 
that  at  different  times  he  had  had  large  dispensaries 
under  his  control,  botli  in  England  and  the  colonies ; 
that  he  hod  been  engaged  in  a  large  and  profitable 
business ;  but  a  great  domestic  misfortune  having 
befiiUen  him,  he  had  sold  out  his  stock  and  invested 
the  proceeds  in  a  California  venture  which  turned 
out  a  wretched  failure — ship  and  cargo  both  sacrificed 
under  the  hammer,  and  the  Captain  off  to  the  Atlantic 
states  with  the  proceeds.  He  had  turned  his  attention 
particularly,  he  said,  to  analytical  chcmistr}-,  and  had 
had  much  experience  among  ores  and  minerals.  lie 
thought   he  could  be  useful,  and  find  his  profit,  in 


^4  The  New. 

assaying  specimens  from  the  different  diggings.  At 
all  events,  he  was  most  anxious  to  find  his  way  back 
into  his  proper  business.  He  had  been  hoping  to 
meet  with  some  chemist  or  druggist  who  would 
accept  his  experience  and  skill  as  a  sufficient  equiva- 
lent for  a  reasonable  share  in  his  business.  His 
poverty  was  extreme,  he  said;  he  was  indebted  to 
charitable  considerations  merely,  for  the  temporary 
place  he  then  occupied — that  of  a  sort  of  under  book- 
keeper ;  and  of  course  his  pay  barely  sufficed  to  keep 
him  alive.  Would  I  do  him  the  great  kindness — he 
was  sure  he  would  justify  me — to  call  attention  to 
him  as  a  competent  assayer,  at  the  foot  of  my  profes- 
sional card.  Furthermore,  he  had  a  small  stock  of 
medicines,  a  few  trifles  that  were  left,  worth  in  all,  at 
the  lowest  estimate,  perhaps  forty-five  dollars.  Had 
I  any  use  for  them  ?  Would  I  kindly  take  them  off 
his  hands?  It  would  be  a  great  satisfaction  to  him  ; 
for  they  would  otherwise  soon  be  destroyed.  He  did 
not  require  cash  for  them  ;  decidedly  he  would  prefer 
not.     If  I  would  have  the  goodness  to  give  him  my 


The  Fate  of  the  Farleighs.  55 

note  on  demand,  he  could  call  on  me  for  the  money 
in  case  he  should  be  ill. 

What  a  painful,  trembling,  bewildered  wretch  ! — a 
vciy  small  man,  slender  and  brittle-looking,  or  what 
old  colored  nurses  call  "shackly." 

"  You  are  Mr.  David  Farleigh." 

*'  Yes,  sir,  that  is  my  name.  No  doubt  Major 
Floyd  (I  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Major  Floyd 
daily,  sir)  has  kindly  mentioned  me  to  you." 

"  Yes,  Major  Floyd,  perhaps^or  some  one  else.  I 
will  comply  with  your  requests,  Mr.  Farleigh." 

Not  Major  Floyd,  nor  any  one  but  Lucy  Mason. 
And  this  was  David  Farleigh — living,  too,  almost 
within  sight  of  his  wife's  windows  ! 

That  afternoon  I  went  to  see  Lucy. 

"  Lucy,  do  you  know  that  your  husband  is  in 
town,  scarce  a  hundred  yards  off,  almost  within  sight 
from  this  window  now  ?" 

No  screaming,  no  gasping,  no  fainting ;  but  such  a 
storm  of  rage !  Flushed  with  hot  passion  one 
moment;  the  next,  ashen  pale  with  a  deep,  danger- 
ous hate,  suddenly  set  up,  but  certain  to  endure. 


56  The  New. 

I  simply  describe  tlie  plicnomena;  I  do  not 
attempt  to  explain  them ;  those  who  think  they  know 
women  better  than  I  do,  may  employ  their  wits  upon 
the  case,  for  it  is  at  least  an  interesting  one. 
AYhether  Lucy  knew  already  of  the  neighborhood  of 
her  husband,  I  could  never  guess.  He  had  been  in 
the  country  a  fortnight;  but  so  seldom  had  she 
appeared  on  the  street,  they  might  easily  have  passed 
each  other  in  the  bewildering  throng  without  recog- 
nition on  either  side ;  besides,  both  must  have  been 
greatly  changed  in  attire  if  not  in  looks.  But  why 
this  fierce  outburst  of  anger  against  me?  Was  it 
merely  because  I  had  become  too  intimate  w4th  their 
hidden  history,  and  that  chance  seemed  to  be  making 
me  more  and  more  master  of  their  secrets  and  them- 
selves? Or  was  it  that  she  wished  to  frighten  me 
into  concealing  from  her  husband,  perhaps  for  his 
own  sake,  her  presence  and  identity  ?  Either  of  these 
reasons  sufficed,  yet  both  might  have  been  joined,  to 
produce  an  excitement  under  which  she  fairly  foamed, 
cursing  fiercely  and  in  a  torrent — with  flashing  eyes 
and  thin,  tremulous,  white  lips,  with  unequivocal  and 


The  Fate  of  the  Farleighs.  57 

really  alarming  threats,  forbidding  me  to  name 
"  either  of  them "  again.  She  bade  me  follow  my 
own  plain  road,  and  leave  the  blind  path  to  her ;  she 
would  find  her  way  out  of  this  alone. 

Perhaps  she  was  right.  In  those  days  I  was  an 
enthusiast,  and  enthusiasts  are  always  bunglers  and 
often  bores. 

I  never  met  Lucy  Mason  alive  but  once  after  that, 
and  then  I  pumped  from  her  stomach,  just  in  time, 
a  quantity  of  arsenic,  she  wildly  raving  all  the  while 
on  themes  I  did  not  recognise,  and  unconscious  of  the- 
scene  or  me.  Fearing  the  effect  of  the  excitement 
into  which  she  would  undoubtedly  be  thrown  on  dis- 
covering me  as  the  man  who  had  thwarted  her  jiur- 
pose  in  that  desperate  pass,  and  who,  it  might  seem  to 
her,  was  forever  crossing  her  dark  and  dangerous  23ath, 
I  handed  her  over  at  once  to  other  physicians,  who, 
from  time  to  time,  reported  the  progress  of  her  case. 
Her  health  and  beauty  departed  at  once,  and  together. 
Blood-stains  were  often  on  her  lips  or  her  handker- 
chief; her  thoughts  strayed  much  into  dark  places, 
and  she  had  her  seasons  of  appalUng  fierceness.     But 


58 


The  New. 


slic  was  marvellously  close  witli  her  secret.  Her  most 
constant  attendants,  even  in  her  wildest  passages, 
never  caught  from  her  lips  the  name  of  Farleigh  or 
of  Harton.     Indeed,  I  think  she  was  at  no  time  quite 


^ 


self  forgetful,  but  only  black-thoughted,  and  impatient 
for  the  end.  It  came  soon — the  natural  sequel,  a 
mere  matter  of  course. 


The  Fate  of  the  Farleighs.  59 

One  day  I  joined  a  knot  of  people,  diverted  for  a 
moment  from  their  business-paths  by  a  new  and  more 
interesting  shaj)e  of  death — the  black  and  swollen 
corpse  of  a  woman  lay  on  some  boards  ^at  the  foot  of 
Clay  street,  waiting  to  be  identified.  It  had  been 
lifted  to  the  surface  of  the  water  on  the  weighing 
anchor  of  an  up-river  craft  at  daybreak.  It  was  bare- 
footed, bare-bosomed,  with  loose  and  flowing  hair ; 
about  the  neck  hung  a  small  blue  satin  bag,  contain- 
ing a  child's  ringlet,  and  prettily  embroidered  with 
the  initials  "P.  F."  It  was  Lucy  Mason.  In  her 
night-dress,  and  with  naked  feet,  she  had  gone  to  one 
of  the  wharfs  at  midnight  and  taken  that  last  dismal 
plunge.     She  Itad  seen  her  fate  out. 

"  Mad,  from  life's  history, 
Glad  to  death's  mystery- 
Swift  to  be  hurl'd — 
Anywhere,  anywhere, 
Out  of  the  world !" 

We no  matter;  she  had  simple  but  becoming 

obsequies.      There  were  those — rough  fellows,  God 


6o  The  New. 

knows,  wlioin  a  toucli  of  nature  brouglit  togetlier  for 
that  oiice,  and  who  may  hardly  meet  again  in  this 
world — who, 

"  Ere  her  limbs  frigidly 
Stiffened  too  rigidly, 

Decently — kindly — 
Smoothed  and  composed  them, 
And  her  eyes  closed  them. 

Staring  so  blindly  I 

"  Dreadfully  staring 

Through  muddy  impurity, 
As  when  with  the  daring 
Last  look  of  despairing. 
Fixed  on  futurity." 

Where  was  Farleigh  ?  Keported  dead.  Nearly 
two  months  before  Lucy's  first  attempt  to  destroy 
herself,  by  poison,  he  called  to  take  leave  of  me. 
lie  was  going,  he  said,  to  the  Mariposa  diggings 
with  a  company  of  gentlemen,  who  would  defray 
liis  expenses  in  consideration  of  his  medical  services. 
Jiis  miiid  seemed  healthy ;  indeed  it  was  the  first 


The  Fate  of  the  Farleighs.  61 

time  I  had  found  him  cheerful,  even  jocose.  I  would 
have  paid  him  then  for  the  medicines  he  had  sold  me, 
but  he  still  decidedly  declined  receiving  the  money  ; 
it  would  do  when  he  needed  it  more,  or  if  this  ven- 
ture should  turn  out  badly.  lie  might  die,  I  urged. 
"Why,  then,  let  it  go."  lie  had  no  one  to  give  it  to. 
At  i^rcsent  he  had  abundance.  He  had  received  an 
anonymous  letter  from  "  one  whom  he  had  once 
trusted,"  inclosing  a  check  on  Davidson,  the  banker, 
drawn  by  "John  Chappell,"  for  three  thousand  dol- 
lars. At  the  bank  they  knew  nothing  of  this  Mr. 
Chappell.  A  stranger,  calling  himself  by  that  name, 
had  deposited  the  money,  stating  at  the  time  that  it 
would  be  drawn  out  in  a  few  days  by  a  Mr.  David 
Farleigh,  on  his  check.  The  descri^^tion  of  Chappell 
afforded  him  no  clue.  But  it  was  all  plain  enough, 
he  said;  the  money  came,  of  course,  from  that  villain, 

Captain ,  who  had  ruined  him,  robbed  him  of 

every  penny  he  possessed,  all  invested  in  the  ship  and 
cargo  he  had  told  me  of  While  he  related  this  sin- 
gular circumstance,  I  watched  him  searchingly.  I 
am  sure  he  did  not  suspect  the   true  source   from 


62  The  New. 

•which  the  timely  remittance  came.  I  am  sure  he 
did  not  know  of  Lucy's  whereabouts,  or  the  life  she 
was  leading. 

That  same  day  he  started  for  the  mines,  and  even 
if  I  had  had  time  to  follow  his  fortunes,  it  was  not 
possible  to  "keep  the  run"  of  him.  He  very  soon 
drifted  out  of  sight  and  mind,  along  with  all  the 
human  flotsam  of  fortune  that  had  given  itself  to  that 
untried  stream.  When  in  that  "  one  more  unfortu- 
nate gone  to  her  death,"  I  recognised  Lucy,  I  sought 
tidings  of  Farleigh  at  Stolberger's  market.  They 
believed  he  was  dead.  The  party  to  which  he  be- 
longed had  been  most  unlucky.  They  had  been 
attacked  by  Indians,  and  robbed  of  everything — ^their 
wagons  and  oxen,  horses,  guns,  camp-traps,  and  pro- 
visions ;  had  turned  back,  half-naked  and  starving ; 
then  cholera  and  fever  overtook  them,  and  two  died 
— one,  it  was  reported,  being  Farleigh. 

A  few  months  later  I  was  seized  with  a  typhoid 
fever,  which  well-nigh  ended  me.  On  recovering,  I 
resolved  to  make  a  trip  to  the  Sandwich  Islands  to 
recruit.      I   reached   Honolulu,    after   a    quick    and 


The  Fate  of  the  Farleighs.  63 

cliarming  passage,  much  improved.  On  landing,  and 
paying  my  respects  to  the  Custom-house,  I  walked  up 
into  the  town.  Seeing  an  apothecary's  shop  on  the 
corner,  I  took  the  occasion  to  procure  some  medicine 
I  had  required  during  the  passage  for  a  sick  passen- 
ger, and  at  the  same  time  to  make  an  acquaintance, 
perhaps,  and  hear  the  news.  Drawing  a  card  from 
my  pocket,  I  wrote  a  prescription.  The  person  to 
whom  I  handed  it,  to  be  compounded,  was  David 
Farleigh — or,  rather,  the  ghost  of  him.  Gracious 
heaven !  how  the  poor,  sensitive,  trembling,  helpless 
creature  must  have  suffered  !  He  cried  on  recognis- 
ing me,  and  fidgeted  painfully  among  his  spatulas 
and  minim  glasses — looked  somewhat  wild,  and  was 
desultory,  almost  to  incoherence,  in  his  talk.  All  the 
mind  he  had  left,  I  thought,  was  not  worth  living  for. 
The  story  I  had  heard  at  Stolberger's,  about  the 
mishaps  of  his  mining  party,  was  all  true,  except  the 
report  of  his  death.  He  had  had  cholera  to  the  last 
extremity.  His  recovery,  he  said,  was  but  a  part  of 
his  protracted  ill-fortune.  A  kind  friend,  touched  by 
his  crippled  case,  had  paid  his  passage  hither,  and  he 


64  The  New. 

had  fled  from  Cahfornia  for  safety  and  rest ;  a  Httle 
longer,  and  his  distraction  would  have  become  mad- 
ness. Some  English  merchants  in  Honolulu  had  pro- 
cured this  place  for  him,  where  he  found  occupation 
for  bis  mind,  and  a  present  bare  subsistence.  "  When- 
ever, whatever  the  end  may  be,"  he  said,  *'  I  have  no 
wish  to  postpone  it,"  He  w^as  as  poor — poorer  than 
ever ;  and  now  he  would  take  the  forty-five  dollars, 
and  give  me  back  my  note.  In  this  interview  I  ven- 
tured, for  the  first  time,  and  very  guardedly,  to  ask  : 

"  By-the-b}^,  have  you  any  family,  Mr.  Farleigh  ?" 

"  None,  sir.  Six  months  ago,  a  little  child,  my 
last  human  tie,  was  torn  away  from  me." 

The  naturalness,  quite  without  alarm  or  any  sort 
of  agitation,  with  which  the  answer  was  given,  satis- 
fied me  that  my  acquaintance  with  the  blackest  chap- 
ter in  his  history  had  never  been  suspected  by  the 
poor  fellow. 

About  noon  on  the  following  day,  having  taken  up 
my  lodgings  on  shore,  I  called  at  Farleigh's  place  in 
the  hope  of  taking  him  out  for  a  cheerful  walk,  while 
at  the  same  time  he  should  be  my  cicerone  to  the 


The   Fate  of  the  Farleighs.  65 

sights  of  Ilonolulu.  lie  was  not  there,  had  not  been 
down  that  morning,  his  employer  said — he  might  be 
ill,  he  feared ;  his  health  and  spirits  were  by  no  means 
good — he  would  send  to  see.  But  I  would,  myself, 
be  going  in  that  direction,  I  said,  and  would  call.  At 
liis  lodgings  no  one  knew  of  his  movements ;  they 
supposed  he  had  gone  to  his  business ;  he  was  very 
irregular  in  his  meals,  and  often  left  in  the  morning 
without  his  breakfast.  I  went  to  his  room ;  the  door 
was  locked,  and  there  was  no  answer  to  my  anxious 
knocking.  They  suggested  that  he  might  be  walking 
— he  often  took  lonely  and  very  long  walks,  some- 
times up  the  Nuuanu  valley  as  far  as  the  Pahri,  some- 
times by  the  plains  down  to  the  cocoa-nut  groves  at 
Waititi.  I  was  for  a  stroll  myself.  I  would  take 
that  direction ;  perhaps  I  should  meet  him. 

In  the  evening,  when  I  returned,  nothing  was  yet 
known  of  Farleigh's  whereabouts.  But  we  agreed  to 
let  our  fears  rest  for  the  night,  in  the  hope  that  he 
might  be  on  board  some  English  vessel  in  the  harbor 
— several  having  arrived  during  the  week — or  with 
some  of  his  English  friends  in  the  town.     All  night  I 


66  The  New. 

was  sleepless,  and  full  of  clrcad.  At  noon  next  day, 
still  no  tidings  of  mv  poor  friend.  I  became  much 
excited,  and  urged  the  reasonableness  of  my  fears 
from  my  intimate  knowledge  of  the  man's  mental 
condition.  It  was  resolved  that  the  door  should  be 
broken  open. 

Good  God !  could  that  horrid,  poisoned  thing  in  the 
bed  be  Farleigh  ? — quite  naked,  swollen  in  every 
part  of  him  to  twice  his  living  proportions,  the 
flice  and  breast  black  as  ink,  the  eyes  staring  dread- 
fully, fairly  bursting  from  their  sockets,  the  nose  and 
ears  filled  with  blood.  On  a  little  table  in  the  corner 
lay  the  money  I  had  paid  him ;  on  the  bed  beside 
him,  a  letter  envelope,  "to  David  Farleigh,  Honolulu, 
S.  I.,  per  barque  Petrel,"  the  vessel  which  brought 
me  over;  on  the  floor,  just  as  they  had  fallen  from 
his  hand,  which  hung  over  the  side  of  the  bed,  the 
halves  of  a  torn  check  in  the  following  strange  form : 

"  Washington  IIall,  San  Francisco. 
Sunday,  February  8,  1850. 
"  Messrs.  Bcrgotne  &  Co.,  Bankers : 

"  Pay  to  David  Farleigh,  for  and  on  account  of  Philip 


The  Fate  of  the  Farlcighs.  67 

Farleigo     (liis    child    and    mine),    eleven    thousand    dollars 
($11,000). 

"Lucy  Mason, 
"  The  lost— in  her  last  hour." 

This  singular  paper  bore  the  endorsement  of  Bur- 
goyne  &  Co.  No  line  of  explanation  accompanied  it, 
at  least  none  was  found;  nor  was  it  ever  discovered 
who  had  forwarded  the  check. 

You  ask  me  what  became  of  this  money.  You 
might  as  well  ask  what  became  of  all  the  vigorous 
life,  all  the  intellect  and  refined  culture,  all  the  ambi- 
tion, courage,  and  virtue,  that  went  to  San  Francisco 
in  'J:9. 

"  Upon  the  white  sea-sand 

There  sat  a  pilgrim  band, 
Telling  the  losses  that  their  lives  had  known ; 

While  evening  waned  away 

From  breezy  chfF  and  bay, 
And  the  strong  tides  went  out  with  weary  moan. 

*'  One  spake,  with  quivering  lip, 
Of  a  fair  freighted  ship, 
With  all  his  household  to  the  deep  gone  down ; 


68 


The  New. 


But  one  had  wilder  woe — 
For  a  fair  face,  long  ago 
Lost  in  the  darker  depths  of  a  great  town." 

I  have  a  tiny  volume — a  child's  book  of  bible 
stories,  with  many  wood-cuts,  and  bound  in  morocco, 
with  a  flap  like  a  pocket-book.  On  a  blank  leaf  is 
written  "  Kate  Farleigh  to  her  darhng,  Hobart  Town, 
Christmas,  1848." 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   OLD   ADOBE. 

A  FEATURE  in  tlie  Sail  Francisco  of  Forty-Nine  was 
tbe  "Old  Adobe"  on  the  Plaza.  Between  Rincon  and 
Clarke's  Points  were  many  more  sightly  edifices,  but 
I  doubt  if  any  half  so  storied  in  stirring  associations. 
"With  its  sturdy  brown  walls,  its  low-descending  roof, 
tiled  after  the  true  rancho  model,  its  rickety  porch 
with  planks  all  adrift,  its  square-set  windows  with 
their  deep  sills,  its  dusty  door  for  ever  wide,  hospita- 
ble by  rust,  and  its  much  whittled  railings  and  posts, 
— the  "  Old  Adobe  "  seemed  set  in  the  midst  of  the 
Plaza,  right  over  against  the  Parker  House,  as  a  sort 
of  public  shingle,  contributed  by  lazy,  good-natured, 
old  Yerba  Buena  to  the  slashing  but  inventive  jack- 
knives  of  young  San  Francisco. 

Overlooking  the  Plaza  from  the  verandah,  you 


^o  The  New. 

had  before  you,  across  the  midst  of  the  open  space, 
the  Parker  House,  famous  as  the  first  of  Cahfornian 
hotels,  fit  to  be  so  called ;  and  next  it,  on  the  cor- 
ner of    Kearney   and  Washington  streets,   the    El 
Dorado,  phoenix  of  many  fires.     On  your  left,  amid- 
ships in  the  north  side  of  the  square,  was  the  ori- 
ginal  Alia    California  office;   and  adjoining  it,   the 
Bella  Union  and  Washington  Hall,  infamous — the 
first  as  a  cut-throats'  gambling-house,  resort  of  bowie- 
knife,  revolver,  and  slung-shot  bravos;  the  latter,  as 
a  stew  of  cheap  prostitution.      To  your  right,  and 
farthest  off,  was  the  old  City  Hotel,  where,  as  well 
as  in  "  Tammany  "  opposite,  Sam  Koberts  erst  mus- 
tered his  "Hounds,"  parading  them  in  a  chow-chow 
of  Mexican  and   Chinese   costume,   and  filing  them 
through    the    bar-room,    on    horseback,    to    drink. 
Higher  up,  on  the  south  side,  was   Sam  Brannan's 
office,  where,  later,  that  redoubtable  Mormon  million- 
aire arraigned  those  same  Hounds  at  the  bar  of  pub- 
lic justice,  and,  revolver  in  hand,  from  the  roof  of 
liis  saucy  little  castle,  made  his  reckless  appeal  to 
popular  indignation  to  bring  out  its  halters.     Quite 


The  Old  Adobe.  71 

near  you,  directly  on  your  riglit,  and  best  seen  from 
the  south  end  of  the  porch,  was  the  little  wliitc 
frame  School-house,  which,  soon  breaking  its  early 
promise,  became  first  a  concert  hall  for  Steve  Mas- 
sett's  entertainments,  and  afterward  a  police  station 
for  the  entertainment  of  bad  women  and  beasts. 
Still  nearer  to  you,  and  interjacent  as  to  the  School- 
house  and  the  Old  Adobe,  was  the  Alcalde's  Office, 
where  a  rich  and  various  assortment  of  Californian 
justice  was  kept  constantly  on  hand,  to  be  characte- 
ristically dispensed  by  a  Leavenworth  or  a  Geary. 
Eight  before  you  was  the  original  flag-staff — that 
Bunkumest  of  flag-staffs — whence  floated  Uncle 
Sam's  title-deed  to  the  land  of  Ophir. 

But  the  most  interesting  object  of  all,  that  which 
stood  for  more  that  is  purely  San  Franciscan  than 
any  other  thing  in  town,  was  no  farther  off  than  the 
south  end  of  the  verandah;  you  had  but  to  walk 
that  far  to  lay  your  hand  upon  it,  A  rough,  but 
substantial  upright,  glorified  with  many  of  the  sono- 
rous names  of  Forty-Nine,  now,  alas,  lost  to  the 
Custom-House  and  to  history,  supported  the  spine  of 


y2  The   New. 

tlic  Old  Adobe's  roof,  and  a  beam,  as  rongli  and  stout, 
stretcliing  from  rib  to  rib,  formed  with  it  a  cross  that 
once  was  put  to  a  just  but  savage  purpose ;  for  from 
an  arm  of  that  same  cross,  one  dark  and  dangerous 
nicdit,  the  Vigilance  Committee,  which  had  been  but 
an  idler's  rumor  before,  hung  up  the  body  of  Jenkins, 
for  a  sign  and  a  token  that  they  were  an  actuality 
and  a  deadly  force. 

How  well  I  remember  it  all !  The  "  Monumental's  " 
bell  tolled,  till  every  second  citizen  in  hearing  of  its 
accusing  voice  confessed,  in  whisper  to  his  own  soul, 
his  Eugene- Aramness,  and  was  seized  with  a  fiend- 
instigated  impulse  to  go  and  give  himself  up. 

"  From  its  nailed  coflBn-prison 
The  corpse  had  arisen, 
And  in  all  its  shroud  vesture, 
With  menacing  gesture, 
A-nd  eye-balls  that  stared  at  them, 
Flared  at  them,  glared  at  them, 
It  pointed — it  flouted 
Its  slayers,  and  shouted, 
In  accents  that  thrilled  them, 


The  Old  Adobe.  73 


*  Those  ruthless  dissemblers, 
Those  guilt-stricken  tremblers, 
Are  the  villains  who  killed  me ! '  " 


I  remember  how  Jenkins  looked  when  he  was  led 
forth  from  the  Committee  room  into  the  street,  with 
the  rope  about  his  neck ;  he  was  smoking  the  cigar 
Sam  Brannan  gave  him  when  he  was  asked  if  he 
had  a  last  request  to  make,  and  he  replied :  "  No 
— Yes — Sam,  I'll  take  a  cheroot,  if  you've  got  such  a 
thing  about  you."  I  remember  how  he  looked  under 
the  Old  Adobe  beam,  when  Sam  gave  the  word  for 
"  A  long  pull,  and  a  strong  pull,  and  a  pull  altogether 
— let  every  honest  citizen  be  a  hangman  for  once !  " 
— Jenkins  had  let  the  cigar  go  out,  for  he  was  dead. 
And  "we  believe  it  is  not  generally  known,"  as  the 
newspaper  phrase  is,  that  the  first  man  hung  by  the 
San  Francisco  Vigilance  Committee  was  dead  before 
he  was  swung  up,  and  the  second,  Stewart,  was  alive 
after  he  was  cut  down. 

But  the  Plaza  was  not  utterly  without  its  cheerful 
aspects ;  and  the  glass  eyes  of  the  Old  Adobe  were 


74  The  New. 

gladdened  witli  a  graceful  and  a  liopeful  siglit,  when 
first  they  looked  upon  the  Lady  of  Forty-Nine. 

There  was  not  much  of  her.  She  was  but  a  little 
one,  and  very  quiet  and  harmless-looking  in  her 
precise  raiment  of  saddest  black;  for  on  shipboard, 
coming  out,  the  material  part  of  a  tiny  passenger 
had  gone  down  among  the  sea-shells,  and  a  tiny  sprite 
had  flitted  heavenward  alone  ;  like  a  strange,  solitary 
butterfly,  such  as  sometimes  visits  lonely  ships  in  the 
Gulf  Stream,  to  fill  the  big  hearts  of  swarthy  seamen 
with  special  wonder,  and  many  a  tender,  half-sad, 
self  reproachful  memory  of  white  cottages,  and  hedge- 
rows neatly  dipt,  and  fragrant  clover-banks  alive 
with  bees — but  which  very  soon,  straining  its  tender 
wings  in  the  sunshine,  stretches  seaward  and  skyward 
and  is  seen  no  more  for  ever. 

They  wore  the  ensign  drooping,  like  a  conscious 
thing,  the  day  that  baby  died.  Eude  sailors  sat 
for'ad,  in  the  "watch  below,"  and  read  the  burial 
service,  laying  their  heads  together  in  squads,  and 
listening  in  more  than  instructed  reverence  to  the 
"  Eesurrection  and  the  Life,"  from  the  school-taught 


The   Old   Adobe.  75 

lips  of  a  boatswain's  mate,  forgetful  of  his  official 
blasphemies.  The  captain's  clerk,  a  sturdy,  handsome 
fellow,  with  a  nor'-wcst  hail,  a  hearty  social  quality,  and 
)io  weaknesses,  forgot  his  last  rough  joke,  and  was 
under  the  weather  that  day;  but  he  hoped  no  one  but 
he  knew  how  blurred  was  the  page,  and  how  unsteady 
the  line,  when  he  drew  his  reluctant  pen  through 
the  half  of  "Mrs.  Blank  and  infant."  And  after 
many  days,  when  the  weather  was  genial,  and  her 
nurse  persuasive,  and  the  little  lady  appeared  on  deck 
again,  pale,  and  sad-eyed,  and  quiet,  and  in  her 
simplicity  of  sorrow  and  demure  raiment  seeming 
unwittingly  to  rebuke  the  selfish  cheerfulness  of  some 
wdio  might  have  forgotten  her  once  or  twice — then 
uncouth  "  hands,"  looking  at  her  askance,  would  with 
a  certain  courtly  awkwardness,  and  very  modestly, 
perform  gallant  things  in  her  service ;  and  competing 
passengers,  in  phrases  as  rough  as  Esau's  thigh, 
approached  her  with  ingenious  anticipations  of  her 
half  formed  wishes,  and  abundance  of  timely  tender- 
nesses ;  until,  at  last,  when  the  good  ship  sailed  through 
the  Golden  Gate,  she  was  won  to  exchange  her  self- 


76  The  New, 

absorption  for  a  graceful  pensivcncss,   prettier,  and 
even  more  commanding,  than  a  disordered  sorrow. 

"  Full  fathom  five  her  darling  lies  ; 

Of  his  bones  are  corals  made ; 
Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes ; 

Nothing  of  him  that  can  fade, 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea  change 

Into  something  rich  and  strange !  " 

And  this  was  she  wlio  crossed  tlie  Plaza,  one 
bright  morning  in  the  year  of  our  Lord,  Eighteen 
Hundred  and  Fortj-nine.  She  leaned  on  the  stout 
arm  of  her  husband,  an  intelligent,  gallant,  joj-ous- 
looking  gentleman — though  that  was  his  baby  that 
went  down  among  the  sea-shells,  and  he  had  no  other 
for  his  sorrow.  He  had  arrived  a  year  before ;  his 
ventures  liad  been  luck}' ;  he  had  become  a  merchant 
of  note,  a  man  of  water-lots  and  steamboats,  and 
shares  in  desirable  sites  at'  the  head  of  navigation ; 
and  he  had  built  a  brave  house  to  put  his  brave  little 
wife  in,  and  his  baby-failure,  in  which  he  had 
invested  such  a  sum  of  love.     But  he  was  not  broken 


The  Old  Adobe.  77 

yet,  nor  dispirited,  for  lie  had  not  touched  his  original 
capital — she  remained. 

They  crossed  tlic  Plaza  diagonally,  from  Clay 
street  to  Dupont,  and  as  they  passed  they  made  a 
jubilee.  In  the  little  white  shantec  on  the  rise  of 
the  hill,  where  the  curt  Alcalde  held  occasional  court 
and  administered  expensive  justice,  a  premature  law- 
yQV  was  outpouring  Arkansas  eloquence,  and  crush- 
ing the  claim  of  some  sacrilegious  ranchero  to  a  Jfifty- 
vara  lot  in  the  middle  of  a  paper  cemetery.  Pre- 
sently a  plain  black  bonnet,  bordered  with  a  white 
cap,  came  within  range  of  the  window.  Forthwith 
that  impetuous  counsel  forgot  his  client  and  his  case, 
dropped  the  thread  of  his  argument,  which  has  never 
been  picked  up  again  to  this  day,  and  performed  a 
wild  vault  through  the  window  into  the  open  space 
in  front.     That  blessed  ranchero  holds  his  own. 

In  the  Old  Adobe  the  collector  of  Customs  was 

"  In  his  counting-house 
A  counting  out  his  money ;" 

and  pert  prmiit-clerks,  with   a  variety  of  bad  Ian* 


78  The  New. 

guage,  were  explaining  to  bewildered  foreigners  the 
peculiar  institutions  of  our  country.  "  Here  slie 
comes !"  was  whispered  in  the  verandah.  The  deputy- 
cashier  caught  up  the  word,  and  like  the  hill-beacons 
in  the  "  Spanish  Armada,"  it  flew  from  desk  to  desk. 
At  once  an  informal  recess  was  taken,  and  frenzied 
aliens,  frantically  gesticulating,  were  suffered  to  abide 
in  blasphemous  impatience  till  the  phenomenon  had 
passed. 

At  the  El  Dorado  a  free  fight  was  adjourned  for 
the  occasion,  and  "  drinks  all  round "  substituted 
thereafter  by  mistake. 

Across  the  open  space,  an  agile,  sun-browned, 
nervous-looking  Mexican  comes  caracoling  on  his 
fretted  steed.  Eesplendent  is  he  in  a  holiday  serape, 
of  hues  as  multifarious  as  Joseph's  coat ;  resplendent 
in  a  foppish  sombrero,  and  famous  for  the  precise  cut 
of  his  ranchero's  jacket.  A  musical  man  is  he — 
jingling  as  to  his  spurs,  jingling  as  to  his  horse's  bit 
and  head-stall,  jingling  as  to  the  high  peak  of  his 
saddle,  jingling  as  to  his  leggins.  In  a  moment  he  is 
almost  upon  her.     One  sharp  jerk  at  the  savage  bit 


The  Old  Adobe.  79 

throws  his  quivering  liorsc  upou  his  liaunclics ;  and 
pausing  so,  lie  sits  the  model  of  an  equipped  caballero, 
unscrupulous  and  gallant. — That  night  a  solitary  way- 
farer, with  a  heavy  pouch  at  his  belt,  makes  his  way 
over  a  desperate  road  to  the  Mission  San  Dolores, 
unscathed.  An  unerring  knife  had  been  whetted  for 
him,  but  a  beam  from  an  angel's  eye  had  sealed  it  in 
its  sheath. 

In  front  of  the  Bella  Union,  Sam  Koberts  and 
his  Hounds  are  marching  two-and-two,  in  carnival 
attire,  mixed  of  Mexican,  Chinese,  and  Indian  gar- 
ments, snatched  with  impunity  from  the  nearest  shop, 
without  money  and  without  price.  But  now  they 
halt,  and,  forming  in  line,  lift  their  hats  even  grace- 
fully— surely  with  some  hopeful  show  of  respect — 
and  salute  the  First  Lady,  No  flames  from  Chilian 
tents  affright  the  quarters  of  Clarke's  Point  that 
night ;  no  shrieks  of  violated  women  make  that  night 
hideous.  A  minister  of  grace  bestowed  the  talisman, 
though  no  grateful  lips  do  homage  to  the  saving 
hand. 

In  the  "Aguila  de  Oro,"  they  are  having  a  lively 


8o  The  New. 

game  of  montc.  A  miserable  wretch,  an  invahded 
miner,  attenuated  and  feeble,  his  joints  all  twisted  in 
the  rack  of  rheumatism,  elbows  his  way  to  a  table, 
and  holds  suspended  over  a  card,  in  lucky  indecision, 
a  soiled  and  finger- worn  bit  of  paper,  a  certificate  of 
deposit  with  Wright  &  Co.  for  three  thousand  dollars 
in  dust.  Once  more,  and  just  in  time,  goes  up  that 
saving  signal,  "She's  coming,  boys.  Hurrah!" — That 
man  is  fat  and  lazy  and  limber  now.  Under  his  fig 
tree,  on  the  banks  of  the  Susquehannah,  he  rejoices 
in  pigs  and  chickens,  a  white  cottage,  and  an  "  old 
woman ;"  and  even  rheumatism  cannot  make  him 
afraid. 

What  was  the  spell  that  wrought  these  changes — 
that  transmuted  the  toads  and  lizards,  and  all  the 
loathsome  things  of  a  dissolute  and  lawless  commu- 
nity, into  the  very  pearls  and  diamonds  of  fairy  tale — 
that  by  some  wondrous  cunning  made,  of  a  day  of 
lust  and  rapine,  and  w^orse  than  Ishmael's  rule,  a 
lovely  Age  of  Gold  ?  The  influence  of  a  quiet  eye,  a 
graceful  mien,  a  thousand  pretty  pleas  for  homage 
and  protection — the   power   of   woman,   the   potent 


The  Old  Adobe.  81 

restraint  ol"  her  presence,  the  persuasive  eloquence  of 
her  very  silence,  the  flattery  of  her  slightest  approba- 
tion, the  sufllcing  rebuke  of  her  turned-away  face — 
that  dim  religion  of  the  heart  which  demands  no  cost- 
lier fane  than  the  humblest  roof-tree,  no  altar  more 
formally  consecrated  than  a  cottage  cradle,  no  deity 
more  awful  than  that  God  of  Love  whose  smile  makes 
the  wilderness  blossom  like  the  rose,  and  the  little 
hills  skip  like  lambs. 

Under  a  green,  hillock,  hard  by  an  old  Switzer's 
house,  and  sacredly  remote  from  the  savage  holocaust 
of  Californian  victims,  sleeps  the  First  Lady  of  San 
Francisco — 

"  Quiet  consummation  have, 
And  renowned  be  thy  grave !  " 

Let  us  sec  what  the  Old  Adobe  is  within.  Enter- 
ing by  the  ever-open  portal,  we  are  in  a  wide  hall, 
whicli  divides  the  house  in  equal  wings — there  is  but 
the  one  story.  This  first  room  on  the  left  is  the 
"  Governor's"  office.  That  is  he — the  dark -haired, 
tliin-whiskered,  dapper  little  man.  Not  forgetting 
that  you.  are  in  San  Francisco,  in  the  early  fall  of 


82  The  New. 

Fortj-ninc,  you  wonder  at  his  well-fitting  clothes, 
his  freshly -shaven  chin,  his  unchallengeable  dicky, 
starched  for  the  latitude  of  Broadway ;  above  all,  at 
his  patent-leather  shoes,  and  spotless,  undarned  stock- 
ings. These  are  miracles — not  to  mention  the  genu- 
ine aroma  of  his  Havana — that  bewilder  you  at  first. 
But  presently  Coit  there,  the  deputy,  redes  you  your 
riddle.  "  The  Governor,"  he  says,  "is  good,  one  way 
or  another  (and  Coit  has  a  way,  peculiarly  his  own, 
of  saying  that  "one  way  or  another"),  for  three  thou- 
sand dollars  a  month,"  which  at  once  makes  the  tailor 
and  the  laundress  mere  common-places  and  matters- 
of-fact.  Coit  himself  reflects  the  Governor's  outer 
man,  after  a  crooked  fashion,  as  a  flawed  looking- 
glass  might  do  it :  that  is,  his  dicky  is  fresh,  but  it 
confesses  to  brown  soap — and  his  stockings  are  clean, 
but  they  are  also  dirty — soiled  in  the  washing ;  and 
the  shoes  that  Coit  wears  are  pumps — therefore, 
simply  ridiculous.  But  Coit  thinks  he's  doing  very 
well  on  eight  hundred  a  month,  one  way  or  another. 

There  are  some  other  small  particulars  in  which 
the  Deputy  successfully  reflects  the  Governor. 


The  Old  Adobe.  83 

Once,  wlien  tlie  green  tables  of  tlie  Parker  House 
flourished  exceedingly,  and  the  game  went  merry  as 
a  marriage-bell,  Coit  approached  a  montc  table,  with 
a  red  silk  handkerchief  in  his  hand,  and  in  his  quiet 
-way — such  modesty  as  you  would  naturally  expect 
from  eight  hundred  dollars  a  month,  one  way  or 
another— asked  for  a  "  lay  out."  'riic  bland  dealer 
graciously  accommodated  him  with  "ray,  ocho,  sink- 
wee,  and  kerwaiyo."  Coit  "believed  he'd  ride  this 
time,"  so  he  tenderly  deposited  his  red  bundle  on  ker- 
waiyo, the  steed. 

"Dust  or  coin,  Mr.  Coit?"  inquired  the  dealer. 

"  Coin,  old  horse." 

"Gold  or  silver,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Coit?" 

"  That's  nothing  to  you,  unless  you  should  be  so 
unhappy  as  to  lose,  my  fancy  friend,  in  which  case 
you  shall  be  gratified  immediately  with  a  minute 
inspection  of  my  pile.  Otherwise,  do  rne  the  honor 
to  take  John  Coit's  unimpeachable  word  for  it  that 
the  money  is  good  money,  and  don't  expose  it  to  the 
vulgar  gaze." 

"As  you  please,  sir;  your  word  is  enough." 


84  The  New. 

And  Jolin  Coit,  receiving  from  the  hand  of  tlie 
smooth  professor  the  sybilhne  "papes,"  in  accordance 
with  an  cstabhshed  courtesy  extended  by  well-bred 
dealers  to  "heavy"  gentlemen,  proceeded  to  decide 
his  own  fate.  By  a  graceful,  undulatory  movement 
of  his  dainty,  jeweled  hand — another  reflection  on 
the  Governor — he  gradually,  and  without  flutter, 
erected  two  symmetric  piles  of  cards;  until,  suddenly 
satisfied,  one  way  or  another,  he  returned  what  re- 
mained of  the  pictorial  parallelograms  to  the  dealer 
— with  a  suavity  of  gesture  which  was  his  owm  happy 
manner,  merely  requesting  that  equally  aesthetic  in- 
dividual not  to  trouble  himself  with  the  arithmetic 
till  the  rabble  had  retired.  In  the  morning,  "  the 
arithmetic"  disclosed  thirteen  thousand  dollars  in  the 
sweetest  eaglets  of  Uncle  Sam's  golden  eyrie. 

One  way  or  another  John  Coit  was  the  best  deputy 
his  governor  ever  had.  Though,  indeed,  the  Governor 
w^as  an  easy  governor  to  please — a  most  confiding 
governor.  His  room  of  office  looked  on  the  verandah 
by  two  windows ;  near  one  of  these  stood  the  sub- 
treasury,  being  an  iron  chest  not  unlike  a  Pennsyl- 


Tiic  Oki  Adolic.  85 

vuiTui  Dutch  fanner,  in  respect  of  it.s  being  so  mucli 
better  acquainted  witii  siib.staiitial  bellyi'uls  than  it.s 
very  seedy  exterior  woidd  lead  you  to  su])pose. 
More  than  once  this  sub-treasury — the  only  thing  of 
steady  habits  west  of  the  llocky  Mountains  then — 
turned  out  its  golden  lining  to  the  day,  while  the 
Governor  and  his  deputy  had  both  I'ctired  for  a  jDeriod 
to  refresh  themselves  in  one  way  or  another — and 
ne'er  a  man  afraid.  There  were  three  months  of 
Arcadian  simplicity  in  the  18-i9  of  San  Francisco. 

Back  of  the  Governor's  room,  on  the  same  side  of 
the  hall,  was  a  cheerless,  barn-like  apartment,  witli  an 
earthen  floor  and  no  ceiling,  nor  any  chimney  or 
window — the  kitchen  of  the  Old  Adobe  in  its  days 
of  aboriginal  dignity.  A  straw  mattress  in  one 
corner,  and  a  Californian  saddle  and  leggins  in 
another — a  very  fancy  serape  hanging  on  a  hook  with 
a  ranchero's  bit  and  lariat,  and  a  yard  or  two  of  line 
Tahiti  tappa-cloth  at  the  door  for  a  curtain — these 
indicated  that  the  place  had  an  occupant.  A  Kanaka 
good-for-nothing,  who  passed  by  the  name  of  Jim, 
and  was  supposed  to  be  somebody's  body-servant,  and 


86  The  New. 

to  get  his  board  and  lodging  in  consideration  of  certain 
stated  duties  whicli  never  appeared  on  the  flice  of 
things,  was  the  sleeper  on  the  straw  mattress  and  the 
occasional  flourisher  of  the  dandy  scrape.  As  for  the 
saddle,  and  the  leggins,  and  the  bit,  and  the  lariat, 
their  respective  uses  were  easily  made  to  appear  by 
a  prosecution  of  even  the  most  careless  inquiries 
into  the  nature  of  Jim's  financial  resources,  and  the 
nation,  occupation,  and  condition  of  his  familiars. 
The  mysteries  of  monte  were  known  also  unto  Jim, 
for  whose  benighted  Polynesian  mind  the  philan- 
thropic Coit  had  done  what  he  could,  by  enlightening 
it  at  first  as  far  as  the  pictorial  alphabet  of  the  High- 
Low-Jack  language,  and  then  leaving  it  to  its  ambi- 
tion. Nor  did  it  disappoint  its  gentle  shepherd.  Jim 
soon  became  master  of  the  painted  hieroglyphics, 
wherewith  he  conjured  into  his  pouch  the  scattered 
dust  of  his  Kanaka  acquaintance,  and  not  rarely 
the  wiry  cavallo  of  some  more  speculative  "Injin." 
Thus  Jim  e]ijoyed  enviable  opportunities  of  venti- 
lating his  equestrianism,  which  is  a  Kanaka's  strong 
point;    and    although   his   stud  was   not   numerous 


The  Old  Adobe.  87 

or    choice,    it    may    be    said    to    have    been    well 
"  broken." 

And  yet  Jim  had  his  good  qualities  too,  to  which 
the  Old  Adobe  was  occasionally  indebted  for  incidents 
of  pathos.  Outside  of  the  sacred  circle  of  montc,  he 
was  kind  to  his  countrymen,  and  occasionally  took 
them  in,  in  the  true  scriptural  sense.  In  the  rough 
winter  of  Forty -nine  and  Fifty,  the  poor  Kanakas  of 
San  Francisco,  quite  childlike  in  their  helplessness 
— their  sensitive  lungs  accustomed  to  the  balm  and 
pleasance  of  Oahu  zephyrs,  their  cracking  skins  miss- 
ing the  bracing  breaker-baths  of  Diamond  Point  and 
Waititi,  their  dismayed  stomachs  sickening  for  the 
wonted  fish  and  poi,  their  matted  black  hair  falling 
in  sorrow  for  its  cocoa-nut  oil,  their  hearts  sadly 
pining  for  florid  fields  of  coral,  for.  the  mists  of  the 
Pahri,  and  the  tropic  fragrance  of  the  vale  of  ISTuuanu 
— these  lost  children  of  the  surf,  the  waterfidl,  and 
the  rainbow  died,  decimate  by  pulmonary  complaints, 
under  filthy  sheds  of  hide,  and  in  the  bush. 

It  was  Jim  then  who  turned  the  earthen  kitchen  of 
the  Old  Adobe  into  a  sick  bay,  and  forsook  his  cards 


88  The  New. 

for  the  tin  water-cup,  the  saucepan,  and  the  gruel- 
s])oon.  He  impressed  into  his  service  of  pit}'  tlie 
influence  and  the  zealous  offices  of  the  careless  but 
kindly  governor.  He  contracted  with  an  amused 
physician  to  undertake  his  patients  cheap — by  the 
quantity,  as  it  were.  He  dragged  to  his  hospital  His 
Hawaiian  Majestj-'s  Vice-Consul  for  San  Francisco, 
bidding  him  see  for  himself,  and  report  in  accordance 
with  the  facts  to  the  government  at  Honolulu — that 
that  old  King  Cole,  that  jolly  old  Polynesian  soul, 
Kamehameha  III.,  might  be  diverted  from  his  bil- 
liards and  brandy-and- water  to  a  solemn  consideration 
of  the  sufferings  of  his  amphibious  subjects  in  San 
Francisco.  And  sure  enough,  the  small  island  king 
did  shortly  afterward  send  over  a  vessel  for  what  was 
left  of  Jim's  clients,  and  took  stringent  measures  to 
keep  the  rest  of  his  tender-lunged  people  at  home. 

There  was  another  simple  but  touching  show  of 
the  peculiar  pathos  of  the  })lace  and  time,  in  the  fare- 
well of  the  Kanakas  on  their  sailing-day.  All  together 
they  trooped  to  the  Doctor's  office — some  on  litters, 
some  on  crutches,  one  actual!}^  on  the  back  of  his 


Tlu!  Old  A(l()lx>.  89 

In-other — to  ofler  tlicir  few  poor  dollars,  scrupvdou.sly 
saved,  or  bestowed  by  Jim  I'm-  the  i)urpose,  and 
which  now  they  unwound  from  their  dingy  red 
sashes,  their  head  handkerchiefs,  or  their  hair.  The 
recompense  which  they  could  not  get  accepted  then, 
they  proftcred,  in  a  tenfokl  more  acceptable  shape,  a 
lew  months  later,  on  the  beach  at  Honolulu,  when, 
fairly  frantic  with  grateful  joy,  shouting,  "  Aluha, 
kouka  f  maitai  kouha  !  aloha  nute-nuee  I "  (Welcome, 
doctor,  good  doctor !  a  hearty  welcome !),  they  made 
much  of  their  Californian  leech  and  friend,  and  would 
have  borne  him  on  their  shoulders  to  his  grass  house, 
ill  the  bosom  of  their  Eden-home. 

Famous  for  Chinamen,  too,  was  the  Old  Adobe  of 
'49, — grinning,  graceless,  good-for-nothings.  For  de- 
cidedly it  is  hard  to  imagine  a  grave,  great,  and  glo- 
rious Chinaman ;  there  is  something  essentially  ridi- 
culous in  all  the  pertainings  of  the  outlandish  crea- 
ture, llis  tail  is  the  sample  and  style  of  him ;  it 
stands  for  him  in  all  things.  Inside  and  out,  he  is 
altogether  just  so  droll  as  that;  and  that  suffices  to 
till  the  measure  of  his  fuuniiiess.     Your  sense  of  the 


go  The  New. 

ridiculous  can  ask  no  more  ;  even  a  caudal  prolonga- 
tion of  liis  OS  coccygis  were  a  superfluous  contribution 
to  the  great  absurdity  of  his  getting  up.  For  myself, 
I  think  I  could  with  less  embarrassment,  with  a  more 
successful  air  of  indifference  to  the  grins  of  the 
crowd,  stand  shaking  hands,  on  Broadway,  with  a 
A^eritably  tailed  gentleman  from  the  interior  of  Africa, 
asking  after  the  health  of  his  family,  and  what  he 
thought  of  Piccolomini,  than  I  could  do  the  very 
same,  by  any  impulse  of  cosmopolitan  affability, 
with  Chu-Jin-Seng  of  the  "  Forest-of-Pencils  Soci- 
ety," whose  respectable,  portly  and  pompous  uncle, 
the  Mandarin  of  the  yellow  button  and  several  pea- 
cock feathers,  had  sent  him  hither  to  induct  us  out- 
side-barbarian Fifth-Avenoodles  in  the  refinements 
and  intricacies  of  celestial  etiquette.  His  square 
front-face  presented,  gravity  might  be  possible ;  but 
the  least  wag  of  his  tail,  ever  so  slight  a  glimpse  of 
his  eccentric  occiput,  just  the  faintest  hint  of  the  arc 
described  by  the  national  hairy  pendulum,  at  the 
small  of  his  back,  upon  the  perpendicular  of  his 
spinal  column — and  a  guffaw  were  irrepressible.    And 


Tlui  Old  Adobe.  91 

I  defy  you  ^vh()lly  to  lose  sight  and  thought  of  it, 
even  in  your  most  philosophic  coiitcmphitions  of  his 
mind.  'J'hougli  he  display  the  profundity  and  sen- 
tcntiousness  of  a  Bacon  and  a  Johnson,  equally  in  his 
axioms  and  his  antitheses  will  you  detect  a  trace  of 
tail. 

It  is  somewhere  related  by  Leigh  Hunt,  I  think, 
that  once,  in  London,  a  chimney-sweeper  came  un- 
awares u})on  a  Chinaman.  Both  presently  rolled  on 
the  ground  in  twisting  convulsions  of  laughter,  to  the 
great  alarm  of  bystanders ;  each  saw,  in  the  other, 
seven  wonders  of  the  funny. 

My  own  earliest  idea  of  a  Chinaman  was  derived 
from  the  Siamese  Twins.  While  yet  an  urchin,  I 
had  the  rare  honor  to  be  admitted  to  personal  intimacy 
with  that  flimous  lusus  natura?,  which  erst  inspired 
Lytton  Bulwer  with  bad  poetry,  and  foreshadowed 
the  best  successes  of  Barnum's  Museum,  in  the  Joyce 
Ilcth,  Feejee  Mermaid,  and  Tom  Thumb  line.  Won- 
der-eyed and  thoughtful,  sitting  on  my  stool,  suppress- 
ed in  a  corner  by  the  fire,  I  have  watched  them  by 
the  hour,   as  they   tite,   or  smoked,   or  laughed,  or 


92 


The  New 


talked,  or  even— licaveii  save  the  key  !— sang.  From 
all  they  said,  or  did,  or  were,  I  derived  notions,  droll 
or  shocking,  as  the  occasion  was,  of  three  hundred 
millions  of  pig-eyed  people,  whose  souls  are  none  the 
less  immortal,  because  their  God's  name,  as  I  under- 
stood it,  was  Josh — ^notions  that  have  not  altogether 
left  me  to  this  day.  I  was  not  yet  so  nice  in  my 
geographical  and  ethnological  distinctions  as  to  ap- 
preciate their  points  of  difference  from  the  Peter 
Parley  type  of  Chinaman.  True,  I  was  at  first  puzzled 
by  the  apparent  discovery  that  they  had  no  tails  on 
the  backs  of  their  heads  in  the  place  where  the  tails 
ought  to  grow,  but  when,  graciously,  to  help  along 
my  researches,  they  untwisted  the  coronal  that  en- 
circled their  dingy  brows,  and  showed  me  that  the 
appendage,  in  all  its  genuineness,  was  there,  I  saw  in 
the  fact  merely  an  individual  peculiarity  of  coiffure, 
even  more  remarkable  and  personal  than  the  link  of 
gristle  which  united  them  like  a  pair  of  human 
sausages.  At  once  their  nationality  ceased  to  perplex 
me.  I  overcame  that  doubt  as  easily  as  a  fly  crossed 
the  hair  line  which  divided  Siam  from  China  on  my 


The    Old    Adohr 


93 


Maltc-Bruii  iii.iji.  Aii<l  llnTfllji-c,  (Icduccd  I,  all 
Chinamen  arc  burn  doiihU";  all  Cliiuauicn  arc  Chang- 
Kng.  [The  reader  will  recollect  that  the  twins  were 
culled  Chang  and  Eng,  but  by  a  pretty  amalgamation 
of  their  names,  for  the  sentiment  of  it,  they  joined 
the  two  with  a  sort  of  gristlediyphen,  and  called 
tlicmselves  Chang-Eng,]  When  Chang  is  hungr}-, 
thought  I,  Eng  cats ;  when  the  nose  of  Eng  is  titil- 
lated, Chang  sneezes ;  wlien  Chang  lifts  uj)  his  voice  in 
wiry  song,  Eng  makes  diabolical  faces ;  if  3'ou  cut 
off  Eng's  tail,  tlie  tail  of  Chang  will  bleed ;  should 
Chang  have  the  colic,  a  mustard  poultice  to  the  pit 
of  Eng's  stomach  would  relieve  him ;  the  tea  that 
Chang  imbibes,  cheers  Eng  ;  the  rice  which  disappears 
down  Eng,  fattens  Chang;  Chang  thinks  Eng,  and 
Eng  thinks  Chang — therefore  no  occasion  to  speak  to 
each  other ;  Eng  is  Chang,  and  Chang  is  Eng — there, 
fore  neither  is  in  the  other's  way.  When  Chang 
said  to  Eng  once,  "  My  brother,  go  up  to  our  room, 
if  you  please,  and  bring  down  the  fan  I  painted  for 
Johnny,"  I  thought  it  an  nnconmion  good  joke,  as 
though  one  should  sa_y,  "Sit  there,  myself,  while  I  go 


94  The  New. 

for  me."  In  three  years  that  I  knew  Chang-Eng,  I 
never,  saving  that  once,  heard  either  speak  to  the 
other — I  never  once  heard  either  of  them  say  "  We," 
meaning  themselves. 

From  the  case  of  the  Siamese  Twins  the  inferences 
I  drew,  in  regard  to  those  three  hundred  millions 
of  my  fellow-creatures,  were  prodigious  inferences  for 
such  a  small  boy  to  draw ;  I  had  my  foregone  con- 
clusions as  to  the  duplicity  of  the  race,  which  a  closer 
acquaintance  with  them,  even  on  their  native  soil,  has 
not  proved  to  be  utterly  at  fault — at  least  in  one  sly 
sense.  Had  the  succession  of  events  been  more  rapid, 
during  the  period  of  my  intimacy  with  Chang-Eng, 
my  ideas  of  Chinamen  would,  no  doubt,  have  pre- 
sented some  refreshing  points  of  resemblance  to 
the  views  of  American  manners  and  habits  afforded 
by  those  veracious,  clear-sighted,  fair  and  philosophic 
observers,  Mons.  Leon  Beauvellet  of  the  Eaehel  Corps 
Dramatique,  and  the  in  London  Times  the  Arrowsmith 
case — and  I  should  have  made  a  note  on't,  that  all 
Chinamen,  being  double,  make  their  fortunes  in 
Museums  by  twenty-five   cents  admittance,  retire  to 


Th<^  OKI  Adobe.  95 

ftiniis  in  Xorlli  Carolina,  marry  eccentric  sisters,  and 
liavc  nine  children  between  tliem. 

^fy  next  encounter  with  John  Chinaman  was  on 
the  porcli  of  the  Old  Adobe,  where  I  derived  new 
ideas  from  purer  types,  marked  by  all  the  en- 
forced characteristics  of  the  Manchu  dynasty.  In 
these  exotics  from  the  Flowery  Kingdom  each  speci- 
men was  sinfjle.  Now  my  tails  hung  down  as  straight 
as  a  cow's,  and  my  e3'es  were  less  on  a  plane  than 
ever.  "All  Chinamen,"  I  noted,  Tiines\\\m  and 
Beauvalletishly,  "  arc  either  carpenters,  cooks,  washer- 
women, or  gamblers ;  their  names  invariably  begin 
with  Ay,  or  Kin,  or  Fu,  and  end  in  Cow,  or  Fung,  or 
Tien  ;  with  every  Chinaman,  in  the  matter  of  shoot- 
ing-crackers, it  is  Fourth  of  July  all  the  year 
round ;  any  Chinese  woman  can  procure  plenary  in- 
dulgence for  her  indiscretions  by  offering  the  cheap 
incense  of  joss-stick  at  the  shrine  of  some  cow- tailed 
Diana;  and  any  Chinaman  may  perjure  his  soul 
without  fear  of  fiends  by  burning  some  yellow  paper 
before  thf  Recorder ;  every  Chinaman  belongs  to  a 
secret  society,  whose  peculiar  object  is  to  squeeze  out 


96  The  New. 

of  him,  extortionatcly,  much  cash,  and  to  strangle 
him  outright  if  he  tells ;  every  bankrupt  Chinaman 
disembowels  himself  for  the  satisfaction  of  his  credi- 
tors, and  every  Chinese  lady  who  cannot  pay  her 
dressmaker,  poisons  herself  with  opium  for  a  receipt 
in  full ;  then  the  defunct  is  interred  in  some  Yerba 
Buena  Cemetery  to  a  salute  of  shooting-crackers,  and 
they  feed  the   grave  for  a  whole  moon  with  roast 

pig- 
Then  I  sailed  away  to  Honolulu,  in  the  Sandwich 

Islands  ;  and  after  a  stay  of  three  months  in  that  am- 
phibious Paradise,  if  one  had  asked  me,  What  are  the 
habits  and  customs  of  the  Chinese  ?  I  should  have 
answered  :  The  Chinaman  lives  on  Kamehameha 
street,  or  the  King's  Road,  where  he  keeps  a  shop  for 
the  sale  of  Madras  handkerchiefs,  Turkey -red  teapoys, 
rattan  furniture,  and  chow-chow  sweetmeats  in  blue 
jars  ;  he  buys  a  great  many  Manilla  cheroots  at  auc- 
tion, has  his  horse-race  every  Saturday  afternoon,  and 
snubs  Kanakas  continually. 

Away  I  went,  with  this  my  latest  ethnological  fact, 
to  Hong-Kong,  where  I  was  soon  prepared  to  assert 


The   Old    Adolx-.  97 

lliat  tlic  pure  Cli'mainan  was  citlicr  conijjrador — tliat 
is,  a  ship's  agent — pawiil>r(jkcr,  oj)iuin-sinufrg]cr,  bcg- 
gar,  retired  ]iiratc,  or  active  assassin.  He  sold  cash  liy 
ihc  string-,  like  onions,  in  front  of  smoky  dens  at  tlic 
end  of  the  Victoria  Eoad  ;  or  he  ])]ayed  Simon-says- 
wiggle-waggle  for  samshu,  at  midnight,  in  tholoft  of 
a  eut-throat  den,  brazenly  published  with  paper  lan- 
terns;  or,  he  waylaid  sentimental  ensigns  returning 
lat(!  at  night,  in  a  state  of  beer,  from  a  visit  to  a 
"Kumpny's  widow"  wdio  reeiMved  a  select  party  to 
loo  and  gin-and-waler,  every  evening,  on  the  heiglits 
above  the  ]3ish()]/s  l\dacc. 

Away  again  to  Singapore  and  Penang,  where  I 
Jonnd  the  Chinaman  making  shoes,  coining  bad  dol- 
lars, waiting  on  table  at  "British"  hotels,  nursing 
half-caste  babies,  cheating  Malays,  and  getting  himself 
devoured  by  an  occasional  enterprising  and  uncere- 
monious tigress,  with  a  large  family  in  a  iiunishing 
condition. 

Next  to  Calcutta ;  and  there  I  found  the  old  fami- 
liar 1;iil  wagging  with  added  vivacity  and  wide-awake- 
ness,  among  the  turbans  ami    bn^^ch  cloths  of  the 


98  The  New. 

Black  Town  bazaars.  At  the  periodical  opium  sales 
my  pig-eyed  friend  was  smartest  in  the  bidding,  and 
in  the  everlasting  processions,  from  Doorga  Pooja  to 
a  turn-out  of  Triads,  his  gong  banged  loudest. 

Home  again,  in  New  York,  at  last — and  there  sat 
the  scamp  on  the  lowest  step  of  the  Astor  House,  in 
all  the  picturesqueness  of  woeful  desolation  and  home- 
sickness, cunningly  playing  on  that  harp  of  a  thousand 
strings,  the  sympathies  of  a  Broadway  crowd,  wuth  a 
trick  of  instrumentation  which  was,  to  me,  a  familiar 
and  amusins;  reminiscence  of  San  Francisco — "Please 
buy  something  from  this  poor  Chinaman  !" — he  buried 
all  the  while  in  jacket  sleeves  and  profound  incon- 
solability :  Begging  Considered  as  one  of  the  Fine 
Arts. 

One  day,  certain  Celestials  of  the  better  class,  con- 
cerned for  the  national  character,  exposed  this  dodge 
in  a  morning  paper.  For  several  months  after  that  I 
looked  in  vain  for  my  artists.  At  last  I  found  one, 
on  the  pavement  of  the  St.  Nicholas.  There  were  the 
tribulation  and  the  snuffling,  the  bowed-downness  and 
the  home-sickness,  and  there,  too,  was  the  placard, 


The  Old  Adobe. 


99 


"  Please  buy  something  " — but  not  even  one  poor  luiika 
cheroot  to  sell.  I  had  found  a  great  master  in  his  art, 
and  he  found  his  reward.  Few  passers-by  were  too 
busy  to  stop  and  bestow  applause  and  coppers  on  so 
happy  a  trick. 

Therefore,  scapegrace  and  rogue  as  he  is,  I  have 
entertained  a  sneaking  regard  for  my  celestial  friend, 
and,  ever  ready  to  believe  that  I  have  met  him  under 
disadvantageous  circumstances,  permit  myself  only 
grateful  memories  of  him,  as  he  chattered  and 
screamed  around  the  porch  of  the  Old  Adobe. 

Opposite  the  Governor's  door  in  the  Old  Adobe  was 
the  Deputies'  room — a  spacious  square  apartment, 
occupying  the  whole  of  that  side  of  the  house.  En- 
tering, you  had  on  your  right,  at  the  windows,  the 
desks  of  the  "  understrappers."  In  the  farther  cor- 
ner were  the  two  deputies — John  Coit,  whom  we  found 
just  now,  at  the  elbow  of  his  great  original,  being 
one.  Right  opposite,  you  had  Mr.  Karl  Joseph 
KrafTt,  the  cashier — a  character,  decidedly,  whose 
portrait  shall  appear  hereafter — a  sort  of  financial 
jioct,  the  equanimously  contemptuous  expression  of 


1  oo  The  New. 

wliose  handsome,  devil-may-care  countenance,  as  lie 
leaned  thoughtfully  over  a  crude  heap  of  dust  and 
coin,  denoted  that  he  considered  it  very  unsatisfying 
stuff  to  live  for,  very  foolish  stuff  to  die  for,  and  very 
uncomfortable  stuff  to  handle.  Next  him  sat,  mute, 
pale  and  vacant-looking,  Joachim  Yallenilla,  the  Span- 
ish permit-clerk — about  whom  a  little  story  : 

Joachim  Yallenilla  had  been,  less  than  a  year  since, 
a  thriving  young  merchant  in  Valparaiso,  where  he 
had  an  ample  credit,  a  young  wife,  pretty  and  warm, 
and  a  friend,  handsome  and  accomplished.  Joachim's 
good-looking  Pythias  was  the  closest  of  bosom  friends; 
from  early  boyhood  they  had  been  inseparables. 
Joachim  loved  Jose,  and  Mariquita  loved  Jose,  and 
Jose  loved  Mariquita ;  as  to  who  loved  Joachim  does 
not  appear — there  seems  to  have  been  something  left 
out  there.  Jos^  and  Mariquita  consumed  many  ciga- 
ritos  together ;  Jose  and  Mariquita  met  often,  over 
the  guitar,  in  the  dulcetest  of  Andalusian  love-ditties ; 
like  two  roses  on  one  stem,  Jos^  and  Mariquita,  by 
moonlight,  peered  through  the  vine-leaves  from  the 
verandah.      Joachim  was  content  with  the  arrange- 


The  Old   Adobe.  loi 

monts  generally.  "  By  way  of  a  sandwicli,"  lie  occa- 
sionally took  a  little  music  and  moonlight  with  his 
cigar ;  and  in  the  abiding  fondness  of  Jose  and  Mari- 
quita  he  found  a  refreshing  sentiment.  Good  fellow, 
Joachim  !     But  you  know  the  old  song  : — 

"  Young  folks,  3'oung  folks,  better  go  to  bed  ; 
Else  you'll  put  the  devil  in  the  old  folks'  head." 

Jose  and  Mariquita,  although  they  went  to  bed, 
did  ])ut  the  devil  in  the  heads  of  certain  old  f(jlks, 
crusty  counsellors  of  Joachim,  who  never  smoked 
cigaritos,  had  no  ear  for  music,  and  were  asthmatic 
by  moonlight.  Thence,  to  the  hot  head  of  3'oung  Jo- 
achim, was  an  easy  leap  for  the  Devil — whence  a  scene. 

One  morning  Joachim  greets  Mariquita  with  the 
tidings  that,  that  day,  he  will  make  one  of  his  usual 
luisiness  trijis  to  Santiago,  to  be  gone  a  week.  In  the 
afternoon,  much  kissing  and  good-by.  At  midnight, 
a  stealthy  step  on  the  verandah,  and  a  muflled  tap  at 
the  door,  which  is  opened  by  a  confidential  servant- 
Joachim  enters,  leaves  his  shoes  in  the  hall,  steals  to 
his    wind's    chainbcr,    draws    aside    the   curtain — tico, 


102  The  New. 

asleep  ! — good.  It  is  not  Joachim's  purpose  to  dis- 
tal b  the  repose  of  people  who  are  no  doubt  fatigued. 
lie  contents  himself  with  leaving  his  hat  and  dirk  on 
the  table — retires,  as  quietly  as  he  entered,  to  another 
chamber — goes  to  bed,  and  to  sleep.  In  the  morning, 
a  lovely  morning,  Joachim  rises  at  his  usual  hour, 
and,  when  breakfast  is  laid,  commands  the  servant  to 
say  to  his  mistress  that  her  husband  waits,  affectionate 
and  hungry. 

Mariquita  has  passed  a  wretched  night — such  a 
dreadful  headache;  will  her  "dear,  kind  love"  excuse 
her?  Her  dear,  kind  love  is  inexorable;  her  pre- 
sence is  essential  to  his  appetite ;  he  cannot  eat,  he 
cannot  live  without  her.  The  servant  goes  and 
returns :  ''  Only  this  once,  dear  Joachim,"  pleads  Ma- 
riquita ;  "  indeed  she  cannot  yet ;  this  evening,  this 
afternoon,  in  an  hour  or  so."  By  no  means  ;  Joachim 
IS  anxious  now,  really  alarmed — he  will  come  to  his 
darling,  his  Mariquita,  his  Mariquitita,  his  Mariqui- 
tititita,  his  pet  of  the  endless  diminutives ;  he  will 
bring  to  her  bedside  the  plantains  and  chocolate. 
"  Oh,  no,  no !" — Mariquita  will  not  hear  of  that ;  her 


The  Old  Adobe.  103 

Joacliim  shall  not  be  at  all  that  trouble  for  a  foolish 
headache ;  besides,  she  is  better  now — she  will  conic 
at  once. 

There  is  in  Chili  a  quaint  satirical  rogue  of  a  law, 
to  this  day  worthily  accepted,  which  requires  that  if  a 
man  detect  his  wife  in  the  very  article  of  wantonness, 
lie  sliall  not  take  her  life,  nor  maim,  nor  bruise  her; 
but  he  may  dismiss  her  from  his  bed  and  board, 
drive  her  out  into  the  highway,  naked  if  he  will  • 
only,  he  shall  first  give  her  shoes  to  her  feet,  and  a 
loaf  of  bread,  or  its  equivalent,  a  real. 

Now,  when  Mariquita  came  down,  to  breakfost 
with  her  good,  easy  husband,  pale,  hoarse,  rigid,  biting 
the  lips  of  lier  heart,  all  was  as  usual — plantains, 
chocolate,  buns,  flowers,  and  Joachim ;  except  that, 
at  her  place,  beside  her  plate,  were  a  pair  of  old  slip- 
pers and  a  battered  real. 

At  first  she  would  have  fainted,  and  then  she 
would  have  fled;  but  her  eyes  met,  just  in  time,  the 
eves  of  Joachim,  and  found  something  there  which 
forbade  either  movement.  So  she  snt  still,  very  still, 
toying  vacantly  with  the  chocolate;  while   he,  now 


104 


The  New. 


become  the  subhme  genius  of  ruthless  retribution,  ran 
on  carelessly  about  the  mists  on  the  vineyards,  and 


the  white  nightcap  of  Monte  Diabolo,  and  the  glanc- 
ing gulls  seaward.  Till,  at  the  end  of  an  accursed 
lifetime,  so  it  seemed  to  her,  he  arose,  and  bowed ; 


The  Old  Adobe.  105 

whereupon,  without  a  look  or  woixl,  from  first  to  last, 
she  retired  to  her  chamber. 

And  so  it  went  on  for  a  month,  he  meeting  her 
only  at  breakfast — always  the  slippers  and  the  real, 
the  silence  and  the  flippant  mockery,  the  agony  and 
the  rack.  Once  she  would  have  escaped ;  but  the 
obedient  doors  laughed  at  her  with  all  their  bolts  and 
bars,  and  paid  servants,  armed  to  the  teeth,  were  deaf, 
and  only  bowed.  Once,  she  flung  herself,  abject,  at 
Joachim's  feet,  and  would  have  clasped  his  knees, 
imploring  him  to  slay  her,  beat  her  to  death  with 
slow  installments  of  stripes — only  take  away,  take 
those  away.  But  Joachim  tapped  on  the  bell,  and 
forced  her  to  gather  herself  up  in  awkward,  foolish 
confusion. 

Another  month,  and  she  was  happy — playing  idi- 
otically with  the  real,  maundering  baby-songs  over 
the  slippers.  Then  Joachim  converted  all  his  worldly 
goods  into  a  piece  of  paper  and  sent  her  home  with  it 
to  her  father.  As  for  Jose,  if  he  did  not  die  a  natu- 
ral death,  he  is  probably  living  now.  "  Quien  sabeT^ 
thought  Joachim,  who  took  a  hundred  dollars,  and 


io6 


The  New. 


sailed  for  San  Francisco,  where  they  made  him  Spa- 
nish permit-clerk  in  the  Old  Adobe. 

If  old  historic  houses,  when  they  die,  go  to  golden 
streets  in  the  New  Jerusalem,  may  the  shade  of  the 
Old  Adobe  be  kept  in  good  repair. 


^i^^^     J 


CHAPTER    IV. 

PINTAL. 

Os  Dupont  Street,  near  Washington,  in  1849,  a 
wretched  tent,  patched  together  from  mildewed  and 
weather-worn  sails,  was  pitclird  on  a  liill-side  lot, 
unsightly  with  sand  and  thorny  bushes,  filthy  cast- 
aways of  clothing,  worn-out  boots,  and  broken  bot- 
tles. The  forlorn  loneliness  of  this  poor  abode,  and 
the  perfection  of  its  Californianness,  in  all  the  circum- 
stances of  exposure,  frailness,  destitution,  and  dirt, 
were  enough  of  themselves  to  make  it  an  object  of 
interest  to  the  not-too-busy  passer  ;  3a^t  to  complete  its 
pitiful  picturesqueness,  Pathos  had  bestowed  a  case 
of  miniatures  and  a  beautiful  child.  Beside  the  en- 
trance of  the  tent  a  rough  shingle  was  fastened  to  the 
canvas,  and  against  this  hung  an  un])ainted  [licture 
frame  of  pine,  in  humble  counterpart  of  those  gilded 


io8  The  New. 

rosewood  signs  which,  at  the  doors  of  Daguerreotype 
galleries,  display  fancy  "specimens"  to  the  goers-to- 
and-fro  of  Broadway.  Attracted  by  an  object  so  no- 
vel in  San  Francisco  then,  I  paused  one  morning,  in 
my  walk  office  ward  from  the  "  Anglo-Saxon  Dining- 
Saloon,"  to  examine  it. 

There  were  six  of  them — six  dainty  miniature 
portraits  on  ivory,  elaborately  finished,  and  full  of 
the  finest  marks  of  talent.  The  whole  were  seem- 
ingly reproductions  of  but  two  heads,  a  lady's  and  a 
child's — the  lady  well  fitted  to  be  the  mother  of  the 
child,  which  might  well  have  been  divine.  There 
were  three  studies  of  each ;  each  was  presented  in 
three  characters,  chosen  as  by  an  artist  possessed  of  a 
sentiment  of  sadness,  some  touching  reminiscence. 

In  one  picture,  the  lady — evidently  English,  a 
pensive  blonde,  with  large  and  most  sweet  blue  eyes, 
curtained  by  the  longest  lashes,  regular  and  refined 
features  suggestive  of  pure  blood,  budding  lips  full 
of  sensibility,  a  chin  and  brow  that  showed  intellect 
as  well  as  lineage,  and  cheeks  touched  with  the  young 
rose's  tint — was  as  a  beautiful  debutante,  the  flower  of 


Pintal.  109 

rich  drawing-rooms,  in  her  first  season  :  one  white 
moss-rosebud  in  lier  smoothly-braided  hair;  her  dim- 
])led,  round,  white  shoulders  left  to  their  own  adorn- 
ment ;  and  for  jewels,  only  one  opal  on  her  ripening 
bosom  ; — so  much  of  her  dress  as  was  shown  was  the 
simple  white  bodice  of  pure  maidenhood. 

In  the  next,  she  had  passed  an  interval  of  trial, 
for  her  courage,  her  patience,  and  her  pride — a  very- 
few  years,  perhaps,  but  enough  to  bestow  that 
haughty,  defiant  glance,  and  fix  those  matchless 
features  in  an  almost  sneer.  No  longer  was  her  fair 
head  bowed,  her  eyes  downcast,  in  shrinking  diffi- 
dence ;  but  erect  and  commanding,  she  looked  some 
tyranny,  or  insolence,  or  malice,  in  the  face,  to  look 
it  down.  Jewels  encircled  her  brow,  and  a  bouquet 
of  pearls  was  happy  on  her  fuller  bosom. 

Still  a  few  years  further  on — and  how  changed  I 
"  So  have  I  seen  a  rose,"  says  that  Shakspeare  of  the 
pulpit,  old  Jeremy  Taylor,  "  when  it  has  bowed  the 
head  and  broke  its  stalk ;  and  at  night,  having  lost 
some  of  its  leaves  and  all  of  its  beauty,  it  has  fallen 
into  the  portion  of  weeds  and  outworn  faces."     Alas, 


1  lo  The  New. 

Farewell,  and  Nevermore  siglied  from  those  liollow 
cheeks,  those  woe-begone  eyes,  those  pallid  lips,  that 
willow-like  long  hair,  and  the  sad  vesture  of  the  for- 
saken Dido. 

So  with  the  child.  At  first,  a  rosy,  careless,  curly- 
pate  of  three  years  or  so — wonder-eyed  and  eager,  all 
Spring  and  joyance,  and  beautiful  as  Love. 

Then  pale  and  pain-fretted,  heavy-eyed  and  weary, 
feebly  half-lying  in  a  great  chair,  still — an  unheeded 
locket  scarce  held  by  his  thin  fingers,  his  forehead 
wrinkled  with  cruel  twinges,  the  sweet  bowed  lines  of 
his  lips  twisted  in  whimpering  puckers,  the  curls 
upon  his  vein-traced  temples  unnaturally  bright,  as 
with  clamminess — a  painful  picture  for  a  mother's 
eyes ! 

But  not  tragic,  like  the  last ;  for  there  the  boy  had 
grown.  Nine  years  had  deepened  for  his  clustered 
curls  their  hue  of  golden  brown,  and  set  a  seal  of 
anxious  thought  upon  the  cold,  pale  surface  of  his 
intellectual  brow,  and  traced  his  mouth  about  with 
lines  of  a  martyr's  resignation,  and  filled  his  profound 
eyes,   dim  as  violets,   with  foreboding  speculation, 


Pintal.  1  1  1 

making  the  lad  seem  a  seer  of  his  own  sad  fulc. 
Here,  thought  I,  if  I  mistake  not,  is  another  mehin- 
cholj  chapter  in  this  San  Franciscan  romance.  This 
painter  learned  his  art  of  sorrow,  and  pitiless  expe- 
rience has  bestowed  his  style;  he  shall  be  fur  my 
finding-out. 

Home-sickness  had  marked  me  for  its  own  one  day. 
I  sat  alone  in  my  rude  little  office,  conning  over 
again,  for  the  hundredth  time,  strange  chapters  of  a 
waif's  experience ;  reproducing  auld-lang-syne,  with 
all  its  thronged  streets  and  lonely  forest-paths,  its  old 
familiar  faces,  talks,  and  songs — ingathering  there, 
in  the  name  of  love  or  friendship,  forms  that  were 
dim  and  voices  that  were  echoes;  and  many  an 
"alas,"  and  "too  late,"  and  "it  might  have  been," 
they  brought  along  with  them : 

"  Let  this  rcmerabrance  comfbrt  me, — that  when 
My  heart  seemed  bursting — hke  a  restless  wave, 
That,  swollen  with  fearful  longing  for  the  shore, 
Throws  its  strong  life  on  the  imagined  bliss 
Of  finding  peace  and  nndi.-^turbod  ciilm — 
It  fell  ou  rocks  and  broke  in  many  tears. 


1 1 2  The  New. 

"  Else  could  I  bear,  on  all  days  of  the  j'car — 
Not  now  alone,  this  gentle  summer  night, 
When  scythes  are  busy  in  the  headed  grass, 
And  the  full  moon  warms  me  to  thoughtfulness — 
This  voice  that  haunts  the  desert  of  my  soul : 
*  It  might  have  been  I '     Alas !  '  It  might  have  been  1 '  " 

I  drew  from,  my  battered,  weather-beaten  sea-box 
sad  store  of  old  letters,  bethumbed  and  soiled — an 
accusation  in  every  one  of  them,  and  small  hope  of 
forgiveness,  save  what  the  gentle  dead  might  render. 
There  were  pretty  little  portraits,  too. — Ah,  well !  I 
put  them  back — a  frown,  or  a  shadow  of  reproachful 
sadness,  on  the  picture  of  a  once  loving  and  approv- 
ing face  is  the  hardest  bitterness  to  bide,  the  self-un- 
sparing wanderer  can  know.  Therefore,  I  would  fain 
let  these  faces  be  turned  from  me — all  save  one,  a 
merry  minx  of  maidenhood,  of  careless  heart  and 
laughing  lips,  and  somewhat  naughty  eyes.  It  was  a 
steel  engraving,  not  of  the  finest,  torn  from  some 
Book  of  Beauty,  or  other  silly  sentimental  keepsake 
of  the  literary  catch-penny  class,  brought  all  the  way 
from  home,  and  tenderly  saved  for  the   sake  of  its 


PiiU;il.  1  1  ^ 

strange,  hy-cliance  resemblance  to  a  smart  little  Uonne 
I  had  known  in  Virginia,  in  the  days  when  smart 
little  Uonnes  made  me  a  sort  of  puppy  Gumming. 
The  pieture,  un framed,  and  exposed  to  all  the  chances 
of  rough  travel,  had  partaken  of  my  share  of  foul 
weather  and  coarse  handling,  and  been  spotted  and 
smutched,  and  creased  and  torn,  and  every  way  de- 
faced. I  had  often  wished  tliat  I  might  have  a  pretty 
painting  made  from  it,  before  it  should  be  spoiled  past 
copying;  and  here,  I  thought,  shall  be  my  introduc- 
tion to  my  fly-in-amber  artist,  of  the  seedy  tent  and 
the  romantic  miniatures.  So,  pocketing  my  picture,  I 
forthwith  hied  me  to  Dupont  Street. 

The  tent  seemed  quite  deserted.  At  first  I  feared 
my  rare  bird  had  flitted;  I  shook  the  bit  of  flying  jib 
that  answered  for  a  door,  and  called  to  any  one  within, 
more  than  once,  before  an  inmate  stirred.  Then,  so 
quietly  that  I  had  not  heard  his  approach,  a  lad  of 
ten,  perhaps,  came  to  the  entrance,  and,  timidly  peer- 
ing up  into  my  face,  asked,  "Is  it  my  father  you 
wish  to  see,  sir?  " 

Uow  beautiful ! — how  graceful !    With  what  touch- 


114  ^^^  New. 

ing  sweetness  of  voice !  How  intellectual  bis  expres- 
sion, and  how  well-bred  his  air ! — plainly  a  gentle- 
man's son,  and  the  son  of  no  common  gentleman ! 
Instinctively  I  drew  back  a  pace  to  compare  him 
with  the  child  of  the  "  specimens."  Unquestionably 
the  same ;  there  were  the  superior  brow,  the  richly 
clustered  curls  of  golden  brown,  the  painful  lips  and 
the  foreboding  eyes. 

"  If  your  father  painted  these  pretty  pictures,  my 
boy — ^yes,  I  would  be  glad  to  see  him,  if  he  is 
within." 

"  He  is  not  here  at  present,  sir ;  he  went  with  my 
mother  to  the  ship,  to  bring  away  our  things.  But  it 
is  quite  a  long  while  since  they  went;  and  I  think 
they  will  return  presently.     Take  a  seat,  sir,  please." 

I  accepted  the  stool  he  offered, — a  canvas  one, 
made  to  "  unshij?,"  and  fold  together — such  a  patent 
accommodation  for  tired  "  hurdies  "  as  amateur 
sketchers,  and  promiscuous  lovers  of  the  picturesque 
in  landscape,  take  with  them  on  excursions.  My 
accustomed  eye  took  in  at  a  glance  the  poor  furniture 
of  that  yery  Californian  make-shift  of  a  shelter  for 


Pintal.  1 1  ^ 

fortune-seeking  heads.  There  were  chests,  boxes,  and 
trunks,  the  usual  complement,  bestowed  in  every 
corner,  as  they  could  best  be  got  out  of  the  way, — a 
small,  rough  table,  on  temporary  legs,  and  made,  like 
the  seats,  to  unship  and  "  stow," — several  other  of 
the  same  canvas  stools, — a  battered  chest  of  drawers, 
at  present  doing  the  duty  of  a  cupboard, — some 
kitchen  utensils,  and  a  few  articles  of  table  furniture 
of  the  i^lainest  delf  As  for  the  kitchen,  I  had 
noticed,  as  I  passed,  a  portable  farnacc  for  charcoal, 
without,  and  at  the  rear  of  the  tent ;  it  was  clear  they 
did  their  cooking  in  the  open  air.  On  one  side  of  the 
entrance,  and  near  the  top  of  the  tent,  a  small  square 
had  been  cut  from  the  canvas,  and  the  sides  framed 
with  slats  of  wood,  making  a  sort  of  Rembrandtish 
skylight,  through  which  some  scanty  rays  of  barbaric 
glory  fell  on  an  easel,  with  its  palette,  brushes,  and 
paints.  A  canvas,  framed,  on  which  the  ground  had 
been  laid,  and  the  outline  of  a  head  already  traced, 
was  mounted  on  the  easel ;  other  such  frames,  as  if  of 
finished  portraits  with  their  faces  turned  to  the  wall, 
stood  on  the  earthen  floor,  supported  by  a  strip  of 


ii6  The  New. 

wood  tacked  to  the  tent-cloth  near  the  bottom.  On 
the  floor,  at  the  foot  of  the  easel,  lay  an  artist's  sketch- 
book. A  part  of  the  tent  behind  was  divided  off 
from  what,  by  way  of  melancholy  jest,  I  may  call  the 
reception-room,  or  the  studio,  by  a  rope  stretched 
across,  from  which  were  suspended  a  blanket,  a  travel- 
ling shawl,  and  a  voluminous  and  evidently  costly 
Spanish  cloak.  Protruding  beyond  the  edge  of  this 
extemporaneous  screen,  I  could  see  the  footposts  of  an 
iron  bedstead,  and  the  end  of  a  large  poncho^  which 
served  for  a  counterpane. 

"  Will  you  amuse  yourself  with  this  sketch-book, 
please,"  said  the  pretty  lad,  "till  my  father  comes?  " 

"  With  pleasure,  my  boy — if  you  are  sure  your 
father  will  not  object." 

"Oh,  no,  indeed,  sir!  My  father  has  told  me  I 
must  always  entertain  any  gentlemen  who  may  call 
when  he  is  out — that  is,  if  he  is  to  return  soon  ;  and 
any  one  may  look  at  this  book ; — it  is  only  his  port- 
folio, in  which  he  sketches  whatever  new  or  pretty 
things  we  see  on  our  travels;  but  there  are  some  very 
nice  pictures  in  it — landscapes,  and  houses,  and  people." 


Piiital.  117 

"Have you  travelled  mucli,  tlien?" 

"  Oh,  yes !  we  have  been  travelling  ever  since  I  can 
remember ;  we  have  been  far,  and  seen  a  great  many 
strange  sights,  and  some  such  queer  people ! — There ! 
that  is  our  shepherd  in  Australia ;  isn't  he  funny  ? 
liis  name  was  Dirk.  I  tied  that  blue  ribbon  round 
his  straw  hut,  that  seems  big  enough  for  an  uiiibrella. 
He  looks  as  if  he  were  laughing,  doesn't  he  ?  That's 
because  I  was  there  when  my  father  sketched  him  ; 
and  he  made  such  droll  faces,  with  liis  brown  skin 
and  his  great  grizzly  moustaches,  when  father  told 
him  he  must  make  up  a  pleasant  expression,  that  it 
set  mc  laughing — for  my  father  said  he  looked  like  a 
Cape  lion  making  love ;  and  then  Dirk  would  laugh 
too,  and  spoil  his  pleasant  expression;  and  father 
would  scold ;  and  it  was  so  funny !  I  loved  Dirk 
very  much,  he  was  so  good  to  me;  he  gave  me  a 
tame  kangaroo,  and  a  black  swan,  and  taught  me  to 
throw  the  boomerang;  and  once  when  he  went  to 
Sydney,  he  sj^ent  ever  so  much  money  to  buy  me  a 
silver  bell  for  Lipsc,  my  yellow  lamb.  I  wonder  if 
Dirk  is  living  yet?     Do  you  think  he  is  dead,  sir? 


Ii8         •  The  New. 

I  should  be  very  much  grieved,  if  he  were ;  for  I 
promised  I  would  come  back  to  see  him  when  I  am 
a  man. 

^^  That  is  Dolores — dear  old  Dolores!     Isn't  she 
fat?" 

"  Yes,  and  good  too,  I  should  think,  from  the  plea- 
sant face  she  has.     Who  was  Dolores?" 

"Ah!  you  never  knew  Dolores,  did  you?  And 
you  never  heard  her  sing.  She  was  my  Chilena 
nurse  in  Valparaiso ;  and  she  had  a  mother — oh,  so 
very  old ! — who  lived  in  Santiago,  We  went  once  to 
see  her.  The  other  Santiago — that  was  Dolores's  son — 
drove  us  there  in  the  veloche.  Wasn't  it  curious,  his 
name  should  be  the  same  as  the  city's?  But  he  was 
a  bad  boy,  Santiago — so  mischievous ! — such  a  scamp ! 
Father  had  to  whip  him  many  times ;  and  once  the 
vigilayites  took  him  up,  and  would  have  put  him  in 
the  chain-gang,  for  cutting  an  American  sailor  with  a 
knife,  in  the  Calle  de  San  Francisco,  if  father  had  not 
paid  five  ounces,  and  become  security  for  his  good 
behavior.  But  he  ran  away,  after  all,  and  went  as  a 
common  sailor  in  a  nasty  guano  ship.     Dolores  cried 


Pint:il.  119 

very  much,  and  it  was  long  before  she  would  sing  for 
mc  again.  Oh,  she  (li<l  know  such  agreeable  songs! 
— Mi  Xifla,  and  Yo  li;ngo  Ojos  Kegros,  and 

'  No  quicro,  no  quicro  casarnie ; 
Es  mejor,  i-s  inejor  soltcra! 

And  the  delightful  little  fellow  mcrrilj  piped  the 
whole  of  that  "  song  of  pleasant  glee,"  one  of  the 
most  melodious  and  sauciest  bits  of  lyric  coquetry  to 
be  found  in  Spanish. 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  "  but  I  cannot  sing  it  half  so  well 
as  Dolores.  She  had  a  beautiful  guitar,  with  a  blue 
ribbon,  that  her  sweetheart  gave  her  before  I  was 
born,  when  she  was  young  and  very  pretty ; — he 
brought  it  all  the  way  from  Acapulco. 

"And  that  pretty  girl  is  Juanita;  she  sold  pine- 
apples and  grapes  in  the  Almendral,  and  every  night 
she  would  go  with  her  guitar — it  was  a  very  nice 
one,  but  did  not  cost  near  so  much  money  as  Dolores's 
— and  sing  to  the  American  gentlemen  in  the  Star 
Hotel.  My  mother  said  she  was  a  naughty  person, 
and  that  she  did  not  dare  tell  where  she  got  her  gold 


120  The  New. 

cross  and  those  jet  ear-rings.  But  I  liked  her  very 
much,  for  all  that ;  and  I'm  sure  she  would  not  steal, 
for  she  used  to  give  me  a  fresh  pine-apple  every 
morning ;  and  whenever  her  brother  Jose  came  down 
from  Casa  Blanca  with  the  mules  and  the  insco^  she 
sent  me  a  large  melon  and  some  lovely  roses. 

"  That  is  the  house  we  lived  in  at  Baltimore.  It 
was  painted  white,  and  there  was  a  paling  in  front, 
and  a  door-yard  with  grass.  We  had  some  honey- 
suckles on  the  porch ; — there  they  are,  and  there's 
the  grape-vine.  I  had  a  dog-house,  too,  made  to  look 
like  a  church,  and  my  father  promised  to  buy  me  a 
Newfoundland  dog — one  of  those  great  hairy  fellows, 
with  brass  collars,  you  know,  that  you  can  ride  on — 
when  he  had  sold  a  great  many  pictures,  and  made 
his  fortune.  But  we  did  not  make  our  fortune  in 
Baltimore,  and  I  never  got  my  dog ;  so  we  came  here 
to  Tom  Tiddler's  ground  to  pick  up  gold  and  silver. 
When  we  are  fixed,  and  get  a  new  tent,  my  father  is 
going  to  give  me  a  little  spade  and  a  cradle,  to  dig 
gold  enough  to  buy  a  Newfoundland  dog  with,  and 
then  I  shall  borrow  a  saw  and  make  a  dog-house,  like 


Pintal.  121 

the  one  I  had  in  Baltimore,  out  of  that  green  chest, 
(.'liarley  Samulers  lived  in  the  next  housi'  in  llie  pic- 
ture, and  he  had  a  martin-box,  with  a  steeple  to  it; 
l)Ut  his  father  gave  fencing  lessons,  and  was  very 
rich." 

As  tlie  intelligent  little  fellow  ran  on  with  his 
j)retty  prattle,  I  was  diligently  pursuing  the  lady 
and  child  of  the  specimens  through  the  sketches. 
On  every  leaf  I  encountered  them — ever  changing, 
3'et  always  the  same.  Here  was  the  child  Ijy  my  side, 
unquestionably  the  same;  though  now  I  looked  in 
vain  for  the  anxious  mouth  and  the  foreboding  eyes 
in  his  face  of  careless,  hopeful  urchinhood.  But  who 
was  the  other? — his  mother,  no  doubt;  and  yet  no 
trace  of  resemblance. 

"  And  tell  me,  who  is  this  beautiful  lady,  my  lad, 
— here,  and  here,  and  here,  and  here  again?  You 
see  I  recognise  her  always, — so  lovely,  and  so  gentle- 
looking.     Your  mother  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  Sir !  "  and  he  laughed, — "  my  mother  is 
very  different  from  that.  That  is  nobody — only  a 
fancy  sketch." 


122  The  New. 

"  Only  a  fancy  sketch  !  "  So  tlicn,  I  thought,  my 
pretty  entertainer,  confiding  and  communicative  as 
you  are,  it  is  plain  there  are  some  things  you  do  not 
know,  or  will  not  tell. 

"  She  is  not  any  one  we  ever  saw  ;  she  never  lived. 
My  father  made  her  out  of  his  own  head,  as  I  make 
stories  sometimes ;  or  he  dreamed  her,  or  saw  her  in 
the  fire.  But  he  is  very  fond  of  her,  I  suppose  be- 
cause he  made  her  himself — just  as  I  think  my  own 
stories  prettier  than  any  true  ones ;  and  he's  always 
drawing  her,  and  drawing  her,  and  drawing  her.  I 
love  her,  too,  very  much, — she  looks  so  natural,  and 
has  such  nice  ways.  Isn't  it  strange  my  father — but 
he's  so  clever  with  his  pencil  and  brushes! — should 
be  able  to  invent  the  Lady  Angelica? — that's  her 
name.  But  my  mother  does  not  like  her  at  all,  and 
gets  out  of  patience  with  my  father  for  painting  so 
many  of  her.  Mamma  sajs  she  has  a  stuck-up  ex- 
j^ression, — such  a  funny  word,  'stuck-up! ' — and  does 
not  look  like  a  lady.  Once  I  told  mamma  I  was  sure 
she  was  only  jealous,  and  she  grew  very  angry,  and 
made  me  cry ;  so  now  I  never  speak  of  Lady  Angelica 


Pintal.  123 

before  her.  What  makes  me  think  my  father  must 
liavc  dreamed  her  is  that  I  dreamed  her  once  myself. 
I  thouglit  she  came  to  me  in  sucli  a  splendid  dress, 
and  told  me  that  she  was  not  only  a  live  lady,  but  my 

own  mother,  and  that  mamma  was Hush  !     This 

is  my  father,  Sir." 

"Wonderful !  how  tlie  lad  had  changed  ! — like  a 
phantom,  the  thoughtless  prattler  was  gone  in  a 
moment,  and  in  his  place  stood  the  seer-boy  of  tlie 
picture,  the  profound,  foreboding  eyes  fixed  anxiously, 
earnestly,  on  the  singular  man  who  at  that  moment 
entered :  a  singularly  small  man,  cheaply  Ijut  tidily 
attired  in  black ;  even  liis  shoes  polished — a  rare  and 
dandyish  indulgence  in  San  Francisco,  before  the 
French  bootblacks  inaugurated  the  sumptuary  vanity 
of  Day  and  Martin's  lustre  on  the  stoop  of  the  Cali- 
fornia Exchange,  and  made  it  a  necessity  no  less  than 
diurnal  ablutions;  a  well-preserved  English  hat  on 
his  head,  which,  when  he  with  a  somewhat  formal 
air  removed  it,  discovered  thin  black  locks,  begin- 
ning to  part  company  with  the  crown  of  his  liead. 
In  liis  largo,  brown  eyes  an  expression  of  melancholy 


124 


The  New. 


was  establislicd ;  a  nervous  tremulousness  almost 
twitched  his  refined  lips,  which,  to  my  surprise,  Avere 
not  concealed  by  the  universal  moustache — indeed, 
the  smooth  chin  and  symmetrically  trimmed  mutton- 
chop  whiskers,  in  the  orthodox  English  mode,  showed 
that  the  man  shaved.  His  nose,  slightly  aquiline, 
was  delicately  cut,  and  his  nostrils  fine ;  and  he  had 
small  feet  and  hands,  the  latter  remarkably  white  and 
tender.  As  he  stood  before  me,  he  was  never  at  rest 
for  an  instant,  but  changed  his  support  from  one  leg 
to  the  other — they  were  slight  as  a  young  boy's — 
and  fumbled,  as  it  were,  with  his  feet;  as  I  have 
seen  a  distinguished  medical  lecturer,  of  Boston, 
gesticulate  with  his  toes.  He  played  much  with 
his  whiskers,  too,  and  his  fingers  were  often  in 
his  hair  —  as  a  fidgety  and  vulgar  man  would 
bite  his  nails.  From  all  of  which  I  gathered  that 
my  new  acquaintance  was  an  intensely  nervous 
person  —  very  sensitive,  of  course,  and  no  doubt 
irritable. 

He  was    accompanied  by    a— female,   much  taller 
than  he,  and  as  stalwart  as  dear  woman  can  be  ;  an 


Pintiil.  125 

especially  common-looking  person,  bungled  aa  to  lier 
dress,  which  was  tawdry-fine,  unseasonable  for  the 
place  as  well  as  time,  inappropriate  to  herself,  inhar- 
monious in  its  composition,  and  every  way  most 
vilely  put  on  ;  a  clumsy  and,  as  I  presently  per- 
ceived, a  loud  person,  whose  face,  still  showing  traces 
of  the  coarse  but  decided  beauty  it  must  once  have 
possessed,  fell  hr  short  of  compensating  for  the  com- 
plete gracelessness  of  her  presence.  Her  eyes  had  a 
bibulous  quality,  and  the  bright  redness  of  her  nose 
vied  vulgarly  with  the  rusty  redness  of  her  cheeks. 
I  suspected  her  complexion  of  potations,  but  chari- 
tably let  it  off  with — beer;  for  she  was,  at  first 
glance,  English.  As  she  jerked  off  her  flaunting 
bonnet,  and  dragged  off  her  loud  shawl,  sahiting  me, 
as  she  did  so,  with  an  overdone  obeisance,  she  said, 
"This  San  Fanfiisko" — why  would  she,  how  could 
she,  always  twist  the  decent  name  of  the  metropolis 
of  the  Pacific  into  such  an  absurd  shape  ? — "  was  a 
norrid  'ole  ;  she  happealed  to  the  gentleman," — mean- 
ing me, — "didn't  'e  find  it  a  norriil  'ole,  liabsolutely 
hawful  ?"      And  tlien  she  went  clatU'ring  among  tin- 


126  The  New. 

ware  and  crockery,  and  snubbed  tlie  gentlemanly  boy 
in  a  sort  of  tender  Billingsgate. 

While  she  was  thus  gracefully  employed,  the 
agonized  artist,  his  face  suffused  with  blushes,  and 
fairly  ghastly  with  an  enforced  smile,  was  painfully 
struggling  to  abstract  himself,  by  changing  the  places 
of  things,  shifting  the  position  of  his  easel,  prying  in 
a  lost  way  into  lumbered  corners,  and  pretending  to 
be  in  search  of  something — ingenious,  but  unable  to 
disguise  his  chagrin.  He  pranced  with  his  legs,  and 
tumbled  his  hair,  and  twitched  at  his  whiskers  more 
than  ever,  as  he  said, — 

"  My  dear"  (and  the  bo}?-  had  called  her  Mamma ; 
so  then,  it  must  be  a  fancy  sketch,  after  all),  "  my 
dear,  no  doubt  the  gentleman  is  a  better  cosmopolite 
than  yourself,  and  blessed  with  more  facility  in  adapt- 
ing himself  to  circumstances." 

"  You  know,  Madam,"  I  came  to  his  assistance,  "  we 
Americans  have  a  famous  trick  of  living  and  enjoying 
a  little  in  advance,  of  '  going  ahead'  of  the  hour,  as  it 
were.  We  find  in  San  Francisco  rather  what  it  pro- 
mises to  be  than  what  it  is,  and  we  take  it  at  its  word.' 


Pinfal.  127 

"  Oh,  pray,  don't  inention  Americans!  I  positively 
'ate  the;  liodious  people,  I  confess  I  'avc  a  liiusiir- 
mouiitable  prejudice  hagainst  the  race;  you  are  not 
liaware  that  I  am  Ilinglish.  I  think  I  might  endure 
lieven  San  Fanfrisko,  if  it  were  not  for  the  Americans. 
Are  you  an  American  ?" 

Alternating  between  the  pallor  of  rage  and  the 
flush  of  mortification,  her  husband  now  turned,  with 
a  calmness  that  had  something  of  desperation  in  it, 
and  saved  me  the  trouble  and  the  pain  of  replying, 
by  asking,  in  the  frigid  tone  of  one  who  resented  ray 
presence  as  the  cause  of  his  shame, — 

"Did  you  wish  to  sec  me  on  business.  Sir?  and 
have  you  been  waiting  long?" 

"The  success  with  which  your  charming  little 
boy  has  entertained  me  has  made  the  time  seem 
very  short.  I  could  willingly  have  waited 
longer." 

That  last  remark  was  a  mere  contre-temps.  I  did 
not  mean  to  be  as  severe  as  he  evidently  thought  me, 
for  he  bowed  haughtily  and  resentfully. 

I  came  at  once  to  business — drew  from  my  pocket 


128  The  New. 

the  engraving  I  had  brought — "Could  he  copy  that 
for  me  ?  " 

"How? — in  miniature  or  life-size? — ivory  or  can- 
vas?" 

"You  are,  then,  a  portrait-painter,  also?  —  Ah! 
to  be  sure ! "  and  I  glanced  at  the  canvas  on  the 
easel. 

"  Certainly, — I  prefer  to  make  portraits." 

"And  in  this  case  I  should  prefer  to  have  one. 
Extravagant  as  the  vanity  may  seem,  I  am  willing 
to  indulge  in  it,  for  the  sake  of  being  the  first,  in  this 
land  of  primitive  wants  and  fierce  unrefinemcnts,  to 
take  a  step  in  the  direction  of  the  Fine  Arts — unless 
you  have  had  calls  upon  your  pencil  already." 

"  None,  Sir." 

"  Then  to-morrow,  if  you  please — for  I  cannot 
remain  longer  at  present — we  will  discuss  my  whim 
in  detail." 

"  I  shall  be  at  your  service.  Sir." 

"Good  day.  Madam!  And  you,  my  pretty  lad, 
well  met ; — what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Ferdy,  Sir,— Ferdinand  Pintal." 


Pintul.  129 

At  that  moment,  liis  father,  as  if  reminded  of  a 
neglected  courtesy,  or  a  business  form,  handed  me  his 
card, — "  Camillo  Alvarez  y  Pintal." 

"Thanks,  then,  Ferdy,  for  the  pains  you  took  to 
entertain  me.  You  must  let  me  improve  an  ac- 
quaintance so  pleasantly  begun." 

The  boy's  hand  trembled  as  it  lay  in  mine,  and  his 
eyes,  fixed  upon  his  father's,  wore  again  the  ominous 
expression  of  the  picture.  He  did  not  speak,  and 
his  father  took  a  step  toward  the  door  significantly. 

But  the  doleful  silence  that  might  have  attended 
my  departure  was  broken  by  a  demonstration,  "  as 
per  sample,"  from  my  country's  fair  and  gentle  'atcr. 
"She  'oped  I  would  not  be  hoffended  by  the  freedom 
of  'er  hobservations  on  my  countrymen.  I  must 
hexcuse  'er  Hinglish  bluntness ;  she  was  haware  that 
she  'ad  a  somewhat  hoff-'and  way  of  hexpressing  'er 
hemotions;  but  when  she  'ated  she  'ated,  and  it  re- 
lieved 'er  to  hout  with  it  at  once.  Certainly  she 
would  never — bless  'er  'eart,  no ! — 'ave  taken  me  for 
an  American ;  I  was  so  huncommon  genteel." 

With  my  hand  upon  the  rcdon  of  my  heart,  as  I 


130  The  New. 

Lad  seen  "Stars,"  when  called  before  the  curtain  on 
the  2:>roudest  evening  of  their  lives,  give  anatomical 
expression  to  their  overwhelming  sense  of  the  honor 
done  them,  I  backed  off,  hat  in  hand. 

"Camillo  Alvarez  y  Pintal,"  I  read  again,  as  I 
approached  the  Plaza.  "  Can  this  man  be  Spanish, 
then  ?  Surely  not ; — how  could  he  have  acquired  his 
excellent  English,  without  a  trace  of  foreign  accent, 
or  the  least  eccentricity  of  idiom?  His  child,  too, 
said  nothing  of  that.  English,  no  doubt,  of  Spanish 
parentage;  or — oh,  patience!  I  shall  know  by-and- 
by,  thanks  to  my  merry  Yirginia  jade,  who  shall  be 
arrayed  in  resplendent  hues,  and  throned  in  a  golden 
frame,  if  she  but  feed  my  curiosity  generously  enough." 

Next  day,  in  the  afternoon,  having  bustled  through 
my  daily  programme  of  business,  I  betook  myself 
with  curious  pleasure  to  my  appointment  with  Pintal. 
To  my  regret,  at  first,  I  found  him  alone;  but  I 
derived  consolation  from  the  assurance,  that,  wherever 
the  engaging  boy  had  gone,  his  mother  had  accom- 
panied him.  Even  more  than  at  my  first  visit,  the 
artist  was  frigidly  reserved,  and  full  of  warning-off" 


Pintal. 


131 


politeness.     "With  but  brief  prelude  of  courteous  com- 
monplaces, he  called  me  to  the  business  of  my  visit. 

My  picture,  as  I  have  said,  was  a  fairly  executed 
steel  engraving,  taken  from  some  one  of  the  thousands 
of  "Tokens,"  or  "Keepsakes,"  or  "Amulets,"  or 
"  Gems,"  or  such  like  harmless  gift-books,  with  which 
youths  of  tender  sentiment  remind  preoccupied  <lam- 
sels  of  their  careful  penchants.  It  rej)resented  an 
"  airy,  fairy  Lilian"  of  eighteen,  or  thereabouts,  loll- 
ing coquettishly,  fan  in  hand,  in  an  antique,  high- 
backed  cluiir,  with  "  carven  imageries,"  and  a  tassellcd 
cushion.  She  rejoiced  in  a  profusion  of  brown  ringlets, 
and  her  costume  was  pretty  and  quaint — a  dainty 
chemisette,  barred  with  narrow  bands  of  velvet,  as 
though  she  had  gone  to  Switzerland,  or  the  soutli  of 
Italy,  for  the  sentiment  of  her  bodice  —  sleeves 
quaintly  puiFed  and  "slashed"  —  the  ample  skirt 
looped  up  with  rosettes  and  natty  little  ends  of 
ribbon  ;  her  feet  beneath  her  petticoat,  "  like  little 
mice,"  stole  out,  "  as  if  they  feared  the  light." 
Somewhere,  among  the  many  editions  of  Di  kens's 
works,  I  have  seen  a  Dolly  Yarden  that  resembled  her. 


132  The  New. 

It  was  agreed  between  us  that  she  should  be  re- 
produced in  a  life-size  portrait,  with  such  a  distri- 
bution of  rich  colors  as  the  subject  seemed  to  call  for, 
as  his  line  taste  might  select,  and  his  cunning  hand 
lay  on.  I  sought  to  break  down  his  reserve,  and 
make  myself  acceptable  to  him,  by  the  display  of  a 
discreet  geniality,  and  a  certain  frankness,  not  falling 
into  familiarity,  which  should  seem  to  proceed  from 
sympathy,  and  a  bonhommie,  that,  assured  of  its  own 
kindly  j^urpose,  would  take  no  account  of  his  almost 
angry  distance.  The  opportunity  was  auspicious,  and 
I  was  on  the  alert  to  turn  it  to  account.  I  made  a 
little  story  of  the  picture,  and  touched  it  with  ro- 
mance. I  told  him  of  A-^irginia — especially  of  that 
part  of  the  State  in  which  this  saucy  little  lady  lived, 
— of  its  famous  scenery,  its  historic  places,  and  the 
peculiar  features  of  its  society,  I  strove  to  make  the 
lady  present  to  his  mind's  eye  by  dwelling  on  her 
certain  eccentricities,  and  helping  my  somewhat  par- 
ticular description  of  her  character  with  anecdotes, 
more  or  less  pointed  and  amusing,  especially  to  so 
grave  a  foreigner,  of  her  singular  ready-wittedness 


Pintal.  13^ 

and  graceful  audacity.  Then  t  bad  niuch  to  say 
about  her  little  "ways,"  of  attitude,  gesture,  and 
expression,  and  sonu;  hints  to  offer  for  slight  changes 
in  the  finer  lines  of  the  face,  and  in  the  costume, 
which  might  make  the  likeness  more  real  to  both  (jf 
us,  and,  by  getting  uj)  in  him  an  interest  for  the 
picture,  procure  his  favorable  impression  for  myself 

I  had  the  gratification,  as  my  experiment  pro- 
ceeded, to  find  that  it  was  by  no  means  unsuccessful. 
His  austerity  appreciably  relaxed,  and  the  kindly 
tone  into  which  his  few,  but  intelligent  observations 
gradually  fell,  was  accompanied  by  an  encouraging 
smile,  when  the  drift  of  our  talk  was  light.  Then  I 
spoke  of  his  child,  and  eagerly  praised  the  beauty, 
the  intelligence,  and  sweet  temper  of  the  lad.  'Twas 
strange  how  little  pleasure  he  seemed  to  derive  from 
my  sincere  expressions  of  admiration ;  indeed,  the 
slight  satisfaction  he  did  permit  himself  to  manifest 
appeared  in  his  words  only,  not  at  all  in  his  looks; 
for  a  shade  of  deep  sadness  fell  at  once  upon  his  hand- 
some face,  and  his  expression,  so  full  of  sensibility, 
assumed  the  cast  of  anxiety  and  pain.     "  He  thanked 


134  The  New. 

me  for  my  eloquent  praises  of  the  boy,  and — not  too 
partially,  lie  liopecl — believed  that  lie  deserved  tliem 
all.  A  prize  of  beauty  and  of  love  had  fallen  to  Lim 
in  liis  little  Ferdy,  for  wliicli  lie  would  be  grieved  to 
seem  ungrateful.  But  yet — but  yet — the  responsi- 
bility, the  anxiety,  the  ceaseless  fretting  care  !  This 
fierce,  unbroken  city ;  " — he  spoke  of  it  as  though  it 
were  a  newly-lassoed  and  untamed  mustang — I  liked 
the  simile ;  "this  lawless,  blasphemous,  obscene,  and 
dangerous  community ;  these  sights  of  heartlessness 
and  cruelty ;  these  sounds  of  selfish,  greedy  conten- 
tion ;  the  absence  of  all  taste  and  culture — no  lines 
of  beauty,  no  strains  of  music,  no  tones  of  kindness, 
no  gestures  of  gentleness  and  grace,  no  delicate  atten- 
tions, no  ladies'  presence,  no  social  circle,  no  books, 
no  home,  no  Church  ; — Good  God  !  what  a  heathenish 
barbarism  of  coarse  instincts,  and  irreverence,  and 
insulting  equalities,  and  all  manner  of  gracelessness, 
to  bring  the  dangerous  impressionability  of  fine  child- 
hood to  !  The  boy  was  nervous,  sensitive,  of  a  spirit 
quick  to  take  alarms  or  hurts — physically  unprepared 
to  wrestle  with  arduous  toil,  privation,  and  exposure^ 


Pintal.  135 

— most  a})t  fur  the  tcacliiiiy;s  of  gentleness  and  taste. 
It  was  cruel  to  think — lie  could  wish  him  dead  first — 
that  his  clean,  white  mlml  must  become  smeared  and 
spotted  here,  his  well-tuned  ear  reconciled  to  loud  dis- 
cords, and  his  fine  eye  at  jjcacc  with  deformity  ;  but 
there  w;is  n<j  help  for  it,"  And  then,  as  though  he 
had  suddenly  detected  ia  my  face  an  expression  of 
surprised  discovery,  he  said,  "  But  I  am  sure  I  do  not 
know  how  I  came  to  say  so  much,  or  let  myself  be 
tedious  with  sickly  egotisms  to  a  polite,  but  indif- 
ferent stranger.  If  you  have  gathered  from  them 
more  than  I  meant  should  appear,  you  will  at  least  do 
me  the  justice  to  believe  that  I  have  not  been  boast- 
ing of  what  I  regard  as  a  calamity." 

I  essayed  to  reassure  him  by  urging  upon  his  con- 
sideration the  manifest  advantages,  of  courage,  self- 
reliance,  ingenuity,  quick  and  economical  application 
of  resources,  independence,  and  perseverance,  which 
his  son,  if  well-trained,  must  derive  from  even  those 
rude  surroundings — at  the  same  time  granting  the 
necessity  of  sleepless  vigilance  and  severe  restraints. 
But  he  only  shook  his  iicad  sadly,  and   said,  "  No 


136  The  New. 

doubt,  no  doubt;  and  I  hopc^,  sir,  the  fault  is  in  my- 
self, that  I  do  not  appreciate  the  force  and  value  of 
all  that." 

The  subject  was  so  plainly  full  of  a  peculiar  pain 
for  him,  he  was  so  ill  at  mind  on  this  point,  that  I 
could  not  find  it  in  my  heart  to  pursue  it  further  at 
the  cost  of  his  feelings.  So  we  talked  of  other 
things :  of  gold,  and  the  placers,  and  their  unim- 
paired productiveness — of  the  prospects  of  the 
country,  and  of  the  character  the  mineral  element 
must  stamp  upon  its  politics,  its  commerce,  and  its 
social  system — of  San  Francisco,  and  all  the  enchant- 
ments of  its  sudden  upspringing — of  Alcaldes  and 
Town  Councils — of  Hounds  and  gamblers — of  real 
estate  and  projected  improvements — of  canvas  houses, 
and  iron  houses,  and  fires — of  sudden  fortunes,  and 
as  sudden  foilures — of  speculations  and  markets,  and 
the  prices  of  clothing,  provisions,  and  labor — of  in- 
temperance, disease,  and  hospitals — of  brawls,  mur- 
der, and  suicide — till  we  had  exhausted  all  the  Cali- 
fornian  budget ;  and  then  I  bade  him  good  day.  He 
parted  with  me  with  flattering  reluctance,  cordially 


Pintal. 


137 


shaking  my  hand,  and  urging  nic  to  repeat  my  visit 
in  a  few  days,  when  he  should  be  suffieiently  forward 
with  the  picture  to  admit  me  to  a  sight  of  it.  I  C(^n- 
fessed  my  impatience  for  the  interval  to  pass ;  for  my 
interest  was  now  fully  awakened  and  very  lively  ; — 
so  well-informed  and  so  polished  a  gentleman,  so 
accomplished  and  so  fluent,  so  ill-starred  and  sad,  so 
every  way  a  man  with  a  history ! 

I  saw  much  of  Pintal  after  this,  and  he  sometimes 
visited  me  at  my  office.  Impelled  by  increasing 
admiration  and  esteem,  I  succeeded,  by  the  exercise 
of  studious  tact,  in  ingratiating  myself  in  his  friend- 
ship and  confidence ;  he  talked  with  freedom  of  his 
feelings  and  his  affairs ;  and  although  he  had  not  yet 
admitted  me  to  the  knowledge  of  his  past,  he  evinced 
but  little  shyness  in  speaking  of  the  present.  At  our 
interviews  in  his  tent  I  seldom  met  his  wife ;  indeed, 
I  suspected  him  of  contriving  to  keep  her  out  of  the 
way;  for  I  was  always  told  she  had  just  stepped  out; 
— or  if  by  chance  I  found  her  there,  she  was  never 
again  vulgarly  loquacious,  but  on  some  pretext  or 
other  at  once  took  herself  off.     On  the  other  liaiul, 


138  The  New. 

the  child  was  rarely  absent — from  which  I  argued 
that  I  was  in  favor ;  nor  was  his  pretty  j^rattle,  even 
his  boldest  communicativeness,  harshly  checked,  save 
when,  as  I  guessed,  he  was  approaching  too  near  some 
forbidden  theme.  Then  a  quick  flash  from  his  father's 
eye  instantaneously  imposed  silence  upon  him  :  as 
if  that  eye  were  an  evil  one,  and  there  were  a 
malison  in  its  glance,  the  whole  demeanor  of  the  child 
underwent  at  once  a  mas-ical  chans-e ;  the  foreboding 
look  took  possession  of  his  own  beautiful  eyes,  the  anx- 
ious lines  appeared  around  bis  mouth,  his  lips  and 
chin  became  tremulous,  his  head  drooped,  he  let  fall 
my  hand  wdiich  he  was  fond  of  holding  as  he  talked, 
and  quietly,  penitently  slunk  away ;  and  though  he 
might  presently  be  recalled  by  his  father's  kindliest 
tones,  his  brightness  would  not  be  restored  that  time. 
This  mysterious,  severe  understanding  between  the 
father  and  the  child  affected  me  painfull}^ ;  I  was  at  a 
loss  to  surmise  its  nature,  whence  it  proceeded,  or 
how  it  could  be ;  for  Ferdy  evinced  in  his  every 
w^ord.  look,  niovement,  an  undivided  fondness  for  his 
father.     And   in   his  tender-proud   allusions   to   the 


Pintal.  139 

boy,  at  times  let  fall  to  me — in  the  anxious  wateli- 
fulness  ^vitl^  which  he  lollowed  liim  with  his  eye, 
when  an  interval  of  peace  and  comparative  happiness 
had  set  childhood's  spirit  free,  and  lent  a  degree  of 
graceful  gayety  to  all  its  motions — I  saw  the  brim- 
mins  measure  of  the  father's  love.  Could  it  be  but 
his  morbidly  repellant  pride,  his  jealous  guarding  of 
the  domestic  privacies,  his  vigilant  pacing  up  and 
down  for  ever  before  the  close-drawn  curtain  of  the 
heart? — was  there  no  Bluebeard's  chamber  there? 
No  !  Pride  was  all  the  matter — pride  was  the  Spar- 
tan fox  that  tore  the  vitals  of  Pintal,  while  he  but  bit 
his  lips,  and  bowed,  and  passed. 

Among  the  pictures  in  Pintal's  tent  was  one  which 
had  in  an  especial  manner  attracted  my  attention. 
It  was  a  cabinet  portrait,  nearly  full-length,  of  a  ve- 
nerable gentleman,  of  grave  but  benevolent  aspect, 
and  an  air  of  imposing  dignity.  Care  had  evidently 
been  taken  to  render  faithfully  the  somewhat  re- 
markable vigor  of  his  frame ;  his  iron-gray  hair  was 
cropped  quite  short,  and  he  wore  a  heavy,  grizzled 
moustache,    but  no   other  beard ;    the   lines   of  his 


140  The  New. 

mouth  were  not  severe,  and  liis  eye  was  soft  and 
gentle.  But  what  made  the  portrait  particularly  no- 
ticeable was  the  broad  red  ribbon  of  a  noble  order 
crossing  the  breast,  and  a  Maltese  cross  suspended 
from  tlie  neck  by  a  short  chain  of  massive  and  curi- 
ously wrought  links.  I  had  many  times  been  on  the 
point  of  asking  the  name  of  this  singularly  handsome 
and  distinguished-looking  personage  ;  but  an  instinc- 
tive feeling  of  delicacy  always  deterred  me. 

One  day  I  found  little  Ferdy  alone,  and  singing 
merrily  some  pretty  Spanish  song.  I  told  him  I  was 
rejoiced  to  find  him  in  such  good  spirits,  and  asked 
him  if  he  had  not  been  having  a  jolly  romp  with  the 
American  carpenter's  son,  who  lived  in  the  Chinese 
house  close  by.  My  question  seemed  to  afSict  him 
with  puzzled  surprise ; — ^he  halt  smiled,  as  if  not 
quite  sure  but  I  might  be  jesting. 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed  !  I  have  never  played  with  him  ; 
I  do  not  know  him  ;  I  never  play  with  any  boys 
here.     Oh,  no,  indeed  !" 

"But  why  not,  Ferdy?  What!  a  whole  month 
in  this  tiresome  tent,  and  not  make  the  acquaintance 


Pintal.  141 

of  your  nearest  neighbor, — such  a  sturdy,  hearty 
chunk  of  a  fellow  as  that  is? — I  have  no  doubt  lie's 
good-natured,  too,  for  he's  fat  and  funny,  tough  and 
independent.  Besides,  he's  a  carpenter's  son,  you 
know  ;  so  there's  a  chance  to  borrow  a  saw  to  make 
the  dog-house  with.  Who  knows  but  his  father  will 
take  a  fancy  to  you— I'm  sure  he  is  very  likely 
to — and  make  you  a  church  dog-house,  steeple  and 
all,  complete  and  painted,  and  much  liner  than  Char- 
ley Saunders's  martin-box'?" 

"Oh,  I  should  like  to,  so  much!  And  perhaps 
he  has  a  Newfoundlander  with  a  bushy  tail  and  a 
brass  collar — that  would  be  nicer  than  a  kangaroo. 
13ut — but" — looking  comically  bothered — "I  never 
knew  a  carpenter's  son  in  my  life.  I  am  sure  my 
father  would  not  give  me  permission — I  am  sure  he 
would  be  very  angry,  if  I  asked  him.  Are  they  not 
very  disagreeable,  that  sort  of  boys?  Don't  they 
swear,  and  tear  their  clothes,  and  fight,  and  sing  vul- 
gar songs,  and  tell  lies,  and  sit  down  in  the  middle 
of  the  street  ?" 

Merciful    Heaven!     thought    I— here's    a    crying 


142  The  New. 

sliame !  here's  an  interesting  case  for  professors  of 
moral  hygiene  !  An  apt,  intelligent  little  man,  with 
an  empty  mind,  and  a  by-no-means-overloaded  sto- 
mach, I'll  engage, — with  a  pride-paralysed  father, 
and  a  beer-bewitched  slattern  of  a  mother, — with  his 
living  to  get,  in  San  Francisco  too,  and  the  world  to 
make  friends  with, — who  has  never  enjoyed  the  pe- 
culiar advantages  to  be  derived  from  the  society  of 
little  dirty  boys,  never  been  admitted  to  the  felicity 
of  popular  songs,  nor  exercised  his  pluck  in  a  rough- 
and-tumble,  nor  ventilated  himself  in  wholesome 
"  giddy,  giddy,  gout," — to  whom  dirt-pies  are  a  fa- 
ble! 

"  Ferdy,"  said  I,  "  I'll  talk  with  your  father  my- 
self But  tell  me  now,  what  makes  you  so  happy 
to-day?" 

"  My  father  got  a  letter  this  morning," — a  mail 
had  just  arrived ;  it  brought  no  smile  or  tear  for 
me, — no  parallelogram  of  comedy  or  tragedy  in  sta- 
tionery,— "  such  a  pleasant  one,  from  my  uncle  Mi- 
guel, at  Florence,  in  Italy,  you  know.  He  is  well, 
and  quite  rich,  my  flither  says;  they  have  restored 


Pintal.  143 

to  ]iiin  his  jmipcjrty  that  he  thought  was  all  lost  for 
ever,  and  they  have  made  him  a  chevalier  again. 
But  I  am  sure  my  father  will  tell  you  all  about  it, 
for  he  said  he  did  hope  you  would  come  to-day  ;  and 
be  is  so  bappy  and  so  kind  !'' 

"  They  have  made  him  a  chevalier  again,"  I  won- 
dered. "  Your  uncle  Miguel  is  your  fother's  brother, 
then,  Ferdy.     And  did  you  ever  see  hijn  ?" 

Before  he  could  reply,  Pintal  entered,  stepping 
smartly,  his  color  heightened  with  happiness,  his 
eyes  full  of  an  extraordinary  elation.' 

"  Ah  !  my  dear  Doctor,  I  am  rejoiced  to  find  you 
here  ;  I  have  been  wishing  for  you.  See  !  your  pic- 
ture is  finished.     Tell  me  if  you  like  it." 

"Indeed,  a  work  of  beauty,  Pintal." 

"  To  me,  too,  it  never  looked  so  well  before  ;  but  I 
see  things  with  glad  eyes  to-day.  I  have  much  to 
tell  you.  Ferdy,  your  mother  is  dining  at  the  re- 
staurant ;  go  join  her.  And  when  you  have  finished 
vour  dinner,  ask  her  to  take  you  to  walk.  Say  that 
I  am  engaged.  Would  you  not  like  to  walk,  my 
boy,  and  see  how  fast  the  new  streets  spring  up? 


1  ]/|  The  New. 

When  you   return,   you   can    tell    me   of   all    you. 
saw." 

The  boy  turned  up  his  lovely  face  to  be  kissed, 
and  for  a  moment  hung  fondly  on  his  father's  neck. 
The  poor  painter's  lips  quivered,  and  his  eyes  winked 
quickly.  Then  the  lad  took  his  cap,  and  without 
another  word  went  forth. 

"I  am  happy  to-day.  Doctor — Heaven  save  the 
mark!  My  happiness  is  so  much  more  than  m;y 
share,  that  I  shall  insist,  will  ye,  nill  ye,  on  your 
sharing  it  with  me.  I  have  a  heart  to  open  to  some- 
body, and  you  are  the  very  man.  So,  sit  you  down, 
and  bear  with  my  egotism,  for  I  have  a  little  tale  to 
tell  you,  of  who  I  am  and  how  I  came  here.  The 
story  is  not  so  commonplace  but  that  your  kindness 
will  find,  here  and  there,  an  interesting  passage  in  it. 

"I  have  seen  that  that  picture," — indicating  the 
one  I  have  last  described,— "  attracted  your  atten- 
tion, and  that  you  were  prevented  from  questioning 
me  about  it  only  by  delicacy.  That  is  my  flither's 
likeness.  He  was  of  English  birth,  the  younger  son 
of  a  rich  Liverpool   merchant.     An  impulsive,   ro- 


Pintal.  14^ 

maiitic,  adventurous  boy,  seized  early  with  a  passion 
lor  seeing  the  world,  his  unimaginative,  worldly-wise 
father,  |)ractical  and  severe,  kej)t  him  within  narrow, 
fretting  bounds,  and  imposed  harsh  restraints  upon 
him.  When  he  was  but  sixteen  years  old,  he  ran 
away  from  home,  shipped  before  the  mast,  and,  after 
several  long  voyages,  was  discharged,  at  his  own  re- 
quest, at  Carthagena,  where  he  entered  a  shipping- 
house  as  clerk,  and,  having  excellent  mercantile  ta- 
lents, was  rapidly  promoted.  /" 

"Meantime,  through  a  sister,  the  only  remaining 
child,  except  a  half-witted  brother,  he  heard  at  long 
intervals  from  home.  His  father  remained  strangely 
inexorable,  fiercely  forbade  his  return,  and  became 
violent  at  the  slightest  mention  of  his  name  by  his 
sister,  or  any  old  and  familiar  servant;  he  died 
without  bequeathing  his  forgiveness,  or,  of  course,  a 
single  shilling.  But  the  young  man  thrived  with  his 
(>mployers,  whose  business  growing  rapidly  more  and 
more  prosperous,  and  becoming  widely  extended, 
they  transferred  him  to  a  branch  house  at  Malaga. 
Here  he  formed  the  acauaintance  of  the  Don  Francisco 


146  The  New, 

de  Zca-Bermudez,  whose  rising  fortunes  made  his 
own. 

"  Zca-Bermudez  was  at  that  time  engaged  in 
large  commercial  operations.  Although,  under  the 
diligent  and  ambitious  teaching  of  his  famous  relative, 
the  profound,  sagacious,  patriotic,  bold,  and  gloriously 
abused  Jovellanos,  he  had  become  accomplished  in 
politics,  law,  and  diplomacy,  he  seemed  to  be  devoting 
himself  for  the  present  to  large  speculations  and  the 
sudden  acquisition  of  wealth,  and  to  let  the  state  of 
the  nation,  the  Cortes,  and  its  schemes,  go  by. 

"  Only  a  young,  beautiful,  and  accomplished  sister 
shared  his  splendid  establishment  in  Malaga ;  and  for 
her  my  father  formed  an  engrossing  attachment, 
reciprocated  in  the  fullest,  almost  simnltaneously  with 
his  friendship  for  her  brother.  Zea  favored  the  suit 
of  the  high-spirited  and  clever  young  Englishman, 
whose  intelligence,  independence,  and  perseverance, 
to  say  nothing  of  his  good  looks  and  his  engaging 
manners,  had  quite  won  his  heart.  By  policy,  too, 
no  less  than  by  pleasure,  the  match  recommended 
itself  to   him ; — my   father   would   make   a   famous 


Pintal.  147 

junior-partner.  So  they  were  married  under  the 
name  of  Pintal,  bestowed  upon  his  favorite  English 
clerk  by  the  adventurer's  first  patron  at  Carthagena, 
who  had  found  the  boy  provided  with  only  a  '  pur- 
ser's name,'  as  sailors  term  it. 

"I  will  not  be  so  disrespectful  to  the  memory  of  my 
distinguished  uncle,  nor  so  rude  towards  your  in- 
telligence, my  friend,  as  to  presume  that  you  are  not 
familiar  with  the  main  points  of  his  history, — the 
great  strides  he  took,  almost  from  that  time,  in  a 
most  influential  diplomatic  career :  the  embassy  to 
St.  Petersburg,  and  the  Eomanzoflf-Bermudez  treaty 
of  amity  and  alliance  in  1812,  by  which  Alexander 
acknowledged  the  legality  of  the  ordinary  and  ex- 
traordinary Cortes  of  Cadiz ;  the  embassy  to  the 
Porte  in  1821 ;  his  recall  in  1823,  and  extraordinary 
mission  to  the  Court  of  St.  James ;  his  appointment 
to  lead  the  Ministry  in  182-1 ;  my  ftithcr's  high  place 
in  the  Treasury;  their  joint-efforts  from  this  com- 
manding position  to  counteract  the  violence  of  the 
Apostolical  party,  to  meet  the  large  requisitions  of 
France,  to  cover  the  deficit  of  three  hundred  millions 


148  The  New. 

of  reals,  and  to  restore  tkc  jjublic  credit ;  the  insults 
of  the  Absolutists,  and  their  machinations  to  thwart 
Zea's  liberal  and  sagacious  measures;  his  eflbrts  to 
resign,  opposed  by  the  King ;  the  suppression  of  a 
formidable  Carlist  conspirac}^  in  1825  ;  the  execution 
of  Bessi^res,  and  the  '  ham-stringing'  of  Absolutist 
leaders ;  his  dismissal  from  the  Ministry  in  October, 
1825,  Ferdinand  yielding  to  the  Apostolic  storm;  the 
embassy  to  Dresden ;  his  appointment  as  Minister  at 
London. 

"  And  here  my  story  begins,  for  I  was  his  Secretary 
of  Legation  then  ;  while  my  brother  Miguel,  younger 
than  I,  was  attache  at  Paris,  where  he  had  succeeded 
me,  on  my  promotion — a  promotion  that  procured 
for  me  congratulations  for  which  I  could  with  diffi- 
cult}^ affect  a  decent  show  of  gratitude,  for  I  knew 
too  well  what  it  meant.  It  was  not  the  enlightened, 
liberal  Minister  I  had  to  deal  with,  but  the  hard, 
proud  uncle,  full  of  expediencies,  and  calculating 
schemes  for  family  advancement,  and  the  exaltation 
of  a  lately  obscure  name, 

"  In  Paris  I  had  been  admitted,  first  to  the  flattering 


Pintal.  149 

Iriciidship,  and  tli»Mi  to  llic  inmost  heart  of — of  a  most 
lovely  young  lady,  as  noble  by  lier  character  as  by 
her  lineage," — and  he  glanced  at  the  open  sketch- 
book. 

"  The  Lady  Angelica,"  I  quietly  said. 

"  Sir  !"  he  exclaimed,  quickly  changing  color,  and 
assuming  his  most  frigid  expression  and  manner. 
]^ut  as  quickly,  and  before  I  could  speak,  his  sad 
smile  and  friendly  tone  returned,  and  he  said, — 

"Ah!  I  see, — Ferdy  has  been  babbling  of  his 
visions  and  his  dreams.  Yes,  the  Lady  Angelica. 
'Very  charming,'  my  uncle  granted,  'but  very 
poor ;  less  of  the  angel  and  more  of  the  heiress  was 
desirable,'  he  said, — 'less  heaven  and  more  land. 
A  decayed  family  was  only  a  little  worse  than  an 
obscure  one — a  poor  knight  not  a  whit  more  respect- 
nlilc  tli;in  a  rich  merchant.  I  must  relinquish  my 
little  romance — I  had  not  time  for  it ;  T  had  occu- 
palion  enough  for  the  scant  leisure  my  family 
duties' — and  he  laid  stress  on  the  words — 'left  me, 
in  the  duties  of  my  post.  He  would  endeavor  to  find 
•arguments  for  the  lady  and  emphnnient  f >r  me.' 


150  The  New. 

"  It  was  in  vain  for  mc  to  remonstrate, — I  was  too 
familiar  with  my  uncle's  temper  to  waste  my  time 
and  breath  so.  I  would  be  silent,  I  resolved,  and 
pursue  my  honorable  and  gallant  course  without 
regard  to  his  scandalous  schemes.  I  wrote  to  the 
'  Lady  Angelica,' — since  Ferdy's  name  for  her  is  so 
well  chosen, — telling  her  all,  giving  her  solemn  assur- 
ances of  my  unchangeable  purpose  toward  her,  and 
scorn  of  my  uncle's  mercenary  ambition.  She  re- 
plied very  quietly :  '  She,  also,  was  not  without 
pride ;  she  would  come  and  see  for  herself ;' — and 
she  came  at  once. 

"The  family  arrived  in  London  in  the  evening. 
Within  two  hours  I  was  sent — after  the  fasliion  of  an 
old-time  courier,  '  Eide  !  ride  !  ride  ! — for  your  life  ! 
for  your  life!  for  your  life !' — to  Turin  with  despatches, 
and  sealed  instructions  for  my  own  conduct,  not  to  be 
opened  till  I  arrived ;  then  I  found  my  orders  were, 
to  remain  at  Turin  until  it  should  be  my  uncle's 
pleasure  to  recall  me. 

"I  had  not  been  in  Turin  a  month  when  a  letter 
came  from the  Lady  Angelica.     '  It  was  her  wish 


Pintal.  151 

that  all  intercourse  between  us,  by  interview  or  cor- 
respondence, should  cease  at  once,  and  for  ever.  She 
assumed  this  position  of  her  own  free  will,  and  she 
was  resolute  to  maintain  it.  She  trusted  that  I  would 
not  inquire  obtrusively  into  her  motives — she  liad  no 
fear  that  I  would  doubt  that  they  were  worthy  of  her. 
Tier  respect  for  me  was  unabated — her  faith  in  me 
perfect.  I  had  her  blessing  and  her  anxious  prayers. 
I  must  go  on  my  way  in  brave  silence  and  patience ; 
nor  ever  for  one  moment  be  so  weak  as  to  fool  myself 
into  a  hope  that  she  would  change  her  purpose.' 

"What  should  I  do?  I  had  no  one  to  advise 
me ;  my  mother,  whose  faith  in  her  brother's  wisdom 
was  sure,  wius  in  Madrid,  and  my  fother  had  been 
dead  some  years.  At  first  my  heart  was  full  of  bitter 
curses,  and  my  uncle  had  not  at  his  heels  a  heartier 
hater  than  I.  Then  came  the  merely  romantic 
thought,  that  this  might  be  but  a  test  she  would  put 
inc  to — that  he  might  be  innocent  and  ignorant  of 
my  misfortune.  With  the  thought  I  flung  my  heart 
into  writing,  and  madly  plied  her  with  one  long,  pas- 
sionate letter   after    another.      I  got    no    answers  ; 


152  The  New. 

but  by  his  spies  my  uncle  was  apprised  of  all  I 
did, 

"About  this  time — it  was  in  1832 — Zea-Bermudez 
was  recalled  to  Madrid  in  a  grave  crisis,  and  appointed 
to  the  administration  of  Foreign  Affairs.  Ferdinand 
VII.  was  apparently  approaching  the  end  of  his  reign 
and  his  life.  The  Ajjostolical  party,  exulting  in  their 
strength,  and  confiding  in  those  well-laid  plans  which, 
with  mice  and  men,  'gang  aft  agley,'  imprudently 
showed  their  hand,  and  suffered  their  favorite  project 
to  transpire;  which  was,  to  set  aside  the  ordinance 
by  which  the  King  had  made  null  the  Salic  law  in 
favor  of  his  infant  daughter,  and  to  support  the  pre- 
tensions of  the  King's  brother,  Carlos,  to  the  throne. 

"  By  this  stupid  flourish  the  Apostolical  party  threw 
themselves  bound  at  the  feet  of  Zea.  All  of  their 
persuasion  who  filled  high  jDlaces  under  government 
were  without  ceremony  removed,  and  their  seats  filled 
by  Liberals.  Many  of  them  did  not  escape  without 
more  crippling  blows.  As  for  me,  I  looked  on  with 
indifference,  or  at  most  some  philosophic  sneers. 
What  had  I  to  fear  or  care  ?     In  my  uncle's  estima- 


Pintul.  1 53 

tiun,  my  politics  had  been  always  healthy,  no  douljt ; 
and  although  he  had  on  more  than  one  occasion 
liinted,  with  sarcastic  wit,  that  such  a  lady's-man 
must,  of  his  devoir,  be  a  'gallant  champion  of  the 
Salic  law,'  and  dropped  something  rude  and  ill- 
natured  about  my  English  blood — still,  that  was  only 
in  his  dyspeptic  moods ;  his  temper  was  sure  to 
improve,  I  fancied,  with  his  political  and  material 
digestion. 

**  But  I  deceived  myself.  When,  in  the  name  of 
the  infant  Queen,  Isabella  Segunda,  and  in  honor  of 
the  re-establishment  of  order  and  2)ublic  safety,  the 
pleasant  duty  devolved  upon  Zea-Bermudcz  of 
awarding  approbation  and  encouragement  to  all  the 
officers,  from  an  ambassador  to  the  youngest  attache, 
of  foreign  legations,  and  presenting  them  with  tokens 
of  the  nation's  happiness  in  the  shape  of  stars,  and 
seals  with  heraldic  devices,  and  curious  chains  of  his- 
toric signiticance,  not  even  a  paltry  ribbon  fell  to  my 
share,  but  only  a  few  curt  lines  of  advice,  *  to  look 
well  to  my  opinions,  and  be  modest — obediently  to 
discharge  the  duties  prescribed  to  mc,  and  remember 


154  The  New. 

that  2Dresumption  was  a  fault  most  intolerable  in  a 
young  gentleman  so  favored  by  chance  as  to  be 
honored  with  the  confidence  of  government.' 

"  That  exhausted  the  little  patience  I  had  left. 
Savagely  I  tore  the  note  into  contemptible  fragments, 
tossed  into  my  travelling-boxes  as  much  of  my  ward- 
robe as  happened  to  be  at  hand,  consigned  to  a  sealed 
case  my  diplomatic  instructions  and  all  other  docu- 
ments pertaining  to  my  office,  placed  them  in  the 
hands  of  a  confidential  friend,  Mr.  Ballard,  the  Bri- 
tish Agent,  and  secretly  took  passage  for  England, 
where,  without  losing  an  hour,  I  made  the  best  of 
my  way  to  the  abode  of  an  ambitioas  cockne}^  wine- 
merchant,  to  whose  daughter  I  had  not  been  dis- 
agreeable in  other  days,  and  within  a  fortnight  mar- 
ried her.  You  have  seen  the  lady,  Sir,"  he  said, 
eyeing  me  searchingly  as  he  spoke,  with  a  sardonic 
smile, — the  only  ugly  expression  I  ever  saw  him 
wear. 

"  Certain  title-deeds  and  certificates  of  stock,  part 
of  my  father's  legacy,  which,  as  if  foreseeing  the  pre- 
sent emergency,  I  had  brought  away  with  me,  were 


Pinriil.  155 

easily  converted  into  casli.  I  liad  then  twenty  thou- 
sand sterling  pounds,  to  wliich  my  father-in-luw  gene- 
rously added  ten  thousand  more,  by  way  of  portion 
with  his  daughter. 

"  And  now,  to  what  should  I  betake  myself?  I 
had  small  time  to  cast  about  me,  and  was  easy  to 
please ;  any  tolerably  promising  enterprise,  so  the 
field  of  it  were  remote,  would  serve  my  purpose. 
The  papers  were  full  of  Australian  speculations,  the 
wonderful  prosperity  of  the  several  colonies  there, 
the  great  fortunes  suddenly  made  in  wool.  Good !  I 
would  go  to  Australia,  and  be  a  gentle  shepherd  on  an 
imposing  scale.  But  first  I  sought  out  my  father's 
old  friends,  My  Lords  Palmerston  and  Brougham, 
and  the  Bishop  of  Dublin,  and  besought  the  aid  of 
their  wisd(Jin.  With  but  sliirht  prudential  hesitation 
they  with  one  accord  approved  my  project.  Observe : 
a  first-rate  Minister,  especially  if  he  be  a  very  busy 
one,  always  likes  the  plan  that  pleases  his  young  friend 
best — that  is,  if  it  be  not  an  affair  of  State,  and  all 
the  risks  lie  with  his  young  friend.  They  would 
have  spoken  of  Turin  and  Zea-Bormudez  ;  but  I  had 


156  The  New. 

been  bred  a  dii^lomat  and  knew  liow  to  stick  to  my 
point,  which,  this  time,  was  wool.  In  another  fort- 
night I  had  sailed  for  Sydney  with  my  shekels  and 
my  wife.  But  first,  and  for  the  first  time,  I  caused 
the  announcement  of  my  marriage  to  appear  in  the 
princi^Dal  papers  of  London,  Paris,  St.  Petersburg,  and 
Madrid, 

"  Arrived  in  Australia,  I  at  once  made  myself  the 
proprietor  of  a  considerable  farm,  and  stocked  it 
abundantly  with  sheep.  Speculation  had  not  yet 
burst  itself,  like  the  frog  in  the  fable  ;  and  large  suc- 
cesses, as  in  water-lot  and  steam-boat  operations  here 
to-day,  were  the  rule.  On  the  third  anniversary  of 
my  landing  at  Sydney,  I  was  worth  three  hundred 
thousand  pounds,  and  my  commercial  name  was 
among  the  best  in  the  colony.  Six  months  after 
that,  the  rot,  the  infernal  rot,  had  turned  my  thriving, 
populous  pastures  into  horrors  of  carrion-mutton, 
and  I  had  not  sixpence  of  my  own  in  the  wide  world. 
A  few  of  the  more  generous  of  my  creditors  left  me 
a  hundred  pounds,  with  which  to  make  my  miserable 
way  to  some  South  American  port  on  the  Pacific. 


Piiuul.  157 

"  So  I  chose  Valparaiso,  to  paint  iniuiatures,  and 
teach  English,  French,  Italian,  and  German  in.  But 
earthquakes  shook  my  pocjr  house,  and  the  storm- 
fiend  shook  my  soul  with  fear  ; — for  skies  in  light- 
ning and  thunder  arc  to  me  as  the  panorama  and 
hurly-burly  of  the  Day  of  "Wrath,  in  all  the  stupid 
rushing  to  and  fro  and  dazed  stumbling  of  Martin's 
great  picture.  I  shall  surely  die  by  lightning ;  I 
have  not  had  that  live  shadow  of  a  sky-reaching  fear 
hanging  over  me,  with  its  black  wings  and  awful 
muttcrings,  so  long  for  nothing;  in  every  flash  my 
eyes  are  scathed  by  the  fall  blaze  of  hell.  Jf  I  hud 
been  deaf  and  blind,  I  might  have  lived  in  Valpa- 
raiso. As  it  was,  I  must  go  somewhere  where  I  need 
not  sit  all  day  and  night  stopping  my  ears,  and  with 
my  face  covered,  fearing  the  rocks  would  fall  on 
me  too  soon. 

"  So,  with  my  wife  and  the  child, — we  have  had 
no  other,  thank  God ! — I  got  round  Cape  Horn — • 
Heaven  knows  how  !  I  dare  not  think  of  that  time — 
to  the  United  States.  "We  were  making  for  Boston  ; 
but  the  ship,  strained  by  long  stress  of  heavy  weather, 


158  The  New. 

sprung  a  leak,  and  we  j)ut  in  at  Baltimore.  I  was 
pleased  with  the  place ;  it  is  picturesque,  and  has 
a  kindly  look ;  and  as  all  places  were  alike  to  me 
then,  save  by  the  choice  of  a  whim,  I  let  go  my 
weary  anchor  there. 

"  But  the  Baltimoreans  only  admired  my  pictures 
— they  did  not  buy  them ;  they  only  wondered  at 
my  jDolyglot  accomplishment,  and  were  content  with 
ringing  silly-kind  changes  on  an  Encyclopaedic  com- 
pliment about  the  Admirable  Crichton,  and  other 
well-educated  personages,  to  be  found  alphabetically 
embalmed  in  Conversations-Lexicons — they  did  not 
inquire  into  my  sj^stem  of  teaching,  or  have  quarterly 
knowledge  of  my  charges.  So  I  fled  from  Baltimore, 
pretty  speeches,  and  starvation,  to  San  Francisco, 
plain  talk,  and  pure  gold.  And  now — see  here,  sir  ! 
— I  carry  these  always  about  with  me,  lest  the  bright 
pickings  of  this  Tom  Tiddler's  ground  should  make 
my  experience  forget." 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  an  "illuminated"  card 
bearing  a  likeness  of  Queen  Victoria,  and  a  creased 
and  soiled  bit  of  3^ellow  paper.     The  one  was,  by 


l*iiital.  1 59 

voyA  favor,  a  coinprniicntary  pass  to  a  reserved  place 
ill  Wcstiiiiiister  Abbey,  on  the  occasion  of  the  coro- 
nation of  lier  ])ritannic  Majesty,  "  For  the  Seiior  Ca- 
millo  Alvarez  y  Pintal,  Chevalier  of  the  Noble  Order 
of  the  Cid,  Secretary  to  His  Catholic  Majesty's  Lega- 
tion near  the  Court  of  St.  James" — the  other  a  Sid- 
ney pawnbroker's  ticket  for  books  pledged  by  "  Mr. 
Camilla  AUverris  i  Pintel."  He  held  these  con- 
trasted certificates  of  Fortune — her  mocking  visiting- 
cards,  when  she  called  on  him  in  palace  and  in  ca- 
bin— one  in  each  hand  for  a  moment ;  and  bitterly 
smiling,  and  shaking  his  head,  turned  from  one  to 
the  other.  Then  suddenly  he  let  them  fall  to  the 
ground,  and,  burying  his  face  in  his  hands,  was 
roughly  shaken  through  all  his  frame  by  a  great  gust 
of  anguish. 

I  laid  my  hand  tenderly  on  his  shoulder :  "  But, 
Pintal,"  I  said — "  the  Lady  Angelica — tell  me  why 
she  chose  that  course." 

In  a  moment  the  man  was  fiercely  aroused.  "  Ah, 
true !  I  had  forgotten  that  delectable  passage  in  my 
story.     AVhy,  man,  Bermudez  went  to  her,  told  her 


i6o  The  New. 

that  my  aspirations  and  niy  })rospccts  were  so  and 
so — daring,  brilliant — that  she,  only  she,  stood  in 
the  way,  an  impassable  stumbling-block  to  my  glori- 
ous advancement — told  her  (devil !)  that,  with  all 
my  line  passion  for  her,  he  was  aware  that  I  was  not 
without  embarrassment  on  this  score — appealed  to 
her  disinterested  love,  to  her  pride — don't  you  see  ? 
— to  her  pride." 

'  And  where  is  she  now,  Pintal  ?  " 

No  anger  now,  no  flush  of  excitement ; — the  man, 
all  softened  as  by  an  angel's  touch,  arose,  and,  with 
clasped  hands,  and  eyes  upturned  devoutly,  smiled 
through  big  tears,  and  without  a  word  answered  me. 

I,  too,  was  silent.     Whittier  had  not  yet  written — 

"  Of  all  sad  words  of  tongue  or  pen, 
The  saddest  are  these :  '  It  might  have  been ! ' 

"  Ah,  well !  for  us  all  some  sweet  hope  lies 
Deeply  buried  from  human  eyes  ; 

"  And,  in  the  hereafter,  angels  may 
Roll  the  stone  from  its  grave  away !  " 


Pinral.  161 

Then  Pintal  jia(;i'(l  briskly  to  and  fro  a  frw  turns, 
across  the  narrow  lloor  of  his  tent,  ami  ])rcscntly 
stopping,  saiil — his  first  cliccrfulncss,  with  its  un- 
wonted smile,  returning — 

"  But  I  must  tell  you  why  I  should  be  happy  to- 
day. 1  have  a  letter  from  my  brother  Miguel,  who  is 
Secretary  to  tlie  Legation  at  the  Porte.  He  has  leave 
of  absence,  and  is  happy  with  his  dearest  friends  in 
Florence.  He  shared  my  disgrace  until  lately,  but  bore 
it  patiently  ;  and  now  is  reinstated  in  his  ofiice  and 
his  honors,  a  large  portitm  of  his  property  being  restor- 
ed, which  had  been  temporarily  confiscated,  while  he 
was  under  suspicion  as  a  Carlist.  He  is  authorized 
to  offer  me  pardon,  and  all  these  pretty  things,  if  I 
will  return  and  take  a  new  oath  of  allegiance." 

"  And  you  will  accept,  Pintal?  " 

"  Why,  in  God's  name,  what  do  you  take  me  for  ? 
— Pardon !  I  forgot  myself.  Sir.  Your  question  is  a 
natural  one.  But  no,  I  shall  surely  not  accept.  Zea- 
Bermudez  is  dead,  but  there  is  a  part  of  me  which 
can  never  die ;  and  T  am  happy  to-day  because  I  feel 
that  I  am  not  so  poor  as  I  thought  I  was." 


i62  The  New. 

Ferdy  entered,  alone.  He  went  straight  to  his 
father  and  \vhisj)ered  something  in  his  ear, — about 
the  mother,  I  suspected,  for  both  blushed,  and  Pintal 
said,  with  a  vexed  look — "  Ah,  very  well !  never 
mind  that,  my  boy." 

Then  Ferdy  threw  off  his  cap  and  cloak,  and, 
seating  himself  on  a  pile  of  books  at  his  father's 
feet,  quietly  rested  his  head  upon  his  knee.  I 
observed  that  his  face  was  vividly  flushed,  and  his 
eyes  looked  weary.  I  felt  his  pulse — it  indicated 
high  fever;  and  to  our  anxious  questions  he  an- 
swered, that  his  head  ached  terribly,  and  he  was 
"  every  minute  hot  or  cold."  I  persuaded  him  to 
go  to  bed  at  once,  and  left  anxious  instructions  for 
his  treatment,  for  I  saw  that  he  was  going  to  be  seri- 
ously ill. 

In  three  days  little  Ferdy  was  with  the  Lady  An- 
gelica in  heaven.  He  died  in  my  arms,  of  scarlet 
fever.  In  the  delirium  of  his  last  moments  he  saw 
/icr,  and  he  departed  with  strange  words  on  his  lips : 
"I  am  coming,  Lady,  I  am  coming! — my  father  will 
be  ready  presently  ! " 


Pintal.  163 

Some  strangers  from  the  ncigliborbood  liclpcd  nic 
to  bury  Lim ;  we  laid  him  near  the  grave  of  the  First 
Lady ;  but  very  soon  his  pretty  bones  were  scattered, 
and  there's  a  busy  street  there  now. 

Pintal,  when  I  told  him  that  the  boy  was  dead, 
only  bowed  and  smiled.  He  did  not  go  to  the  grave, 
he  never  again  named  the  child,  nor  by  the  least 
word  or  look  confessed  the  change.  But  when,  a 
little  later,  a  fire  swept  down  Dupont  Street  and  laid 
the  poor  tent  in  ashes,  spoiling  the  desolate  house 
whose  beautiful  lar  had  flitted — when  his  wife  went 
moaning  maudlingly  among  the  yet  warm  ashes,  and 
groping,  in  mean  misery,  with  a  stick,  for  some 
charred  nothing  she  would  cheat  the  Spoiler  of,  there 
was  a  dangerous  quality  in  Pintal's  look,  as,  with 
folded  arms  and  vacant  eyes,  he  seemed  to  stare  upon, 
yet  not  to  see,  the  shocking  scene.  Presently  the 
woman,  poking  with  the  stick,  found  something 
under  the  ashes.  With  her  naked  hands  she  greedily 
dug  it  out; — it  was  a  tin  shaving-case.  Another 
moment,  and  Pintal  had  snatched  it  from  her  grasp, 
torn  it  open,  and  had  a  naked  razor  in  his  hand.     I 


164  The  New. 

wrested  it  from  him,  as  lie  fairly  foamed,  and  dragged 
him  from  the  place. 

A  few  days  after  that,  I  took  leave  of  them  on 
board  a  merchant  ship  bound  for  England,  and  with 
a  heavy-hearted  prayer  sped  them  on  their  way.  On 
the  voj-age,  as  Pintal  stood  once,  trembling  in  a 
storm,  near  the  mainmast,  a  flash  of  lightning  trans- 
fixed him. — That  was  well!  He  had  been  distin- 
guished by  his  sorrows,  and  was  worthy  of  that 
special  messenger. 

That  picture — it  was  the  first  and  last  he  painted 
in  California.  I  kept  it  long,  rejoicing  in  the  admira- 
tion it  excited,  and  only  grieved  that  the  poor  com- 
fort of  the  praises  I  daily  heard  lavished  upon  it 
could  never  reach  him. 

Once,  when  I  was  ill  in  Sacramento,  my  San  Fran- 
cisco house  was  burned  ;  but  not  before  its  contents 
had  been  removed.  In  the  hopeless  scattering  of 
furniture  and  trunks,  this  picture  disappeared — no 
one  knew  whither.  I  sought  it  everywhere,  and 
advertised  for  it,  but  in  vain.     About  a  year  after- 


rintiil.  iT)) 

ward,  1  Sidled  Cor  Jlonulidu.  I  L:id  letters  of  intro- 
duction to  some  young  American  merchants  there, 
one  of  whom  hospitably  made  me  his  guest  fur 
several  weeks.  On  the  second  day  of  my  stay  with 
him,  he  was  showing  me  over  his  house,  where, 
hanging  against  the  wall  in  a  spare  room,  I  found — 
not  the  Pintal  picture',  but  a  Chinese  copy  of  it, 
fiiithful  in  its  every  detail.  There  were  the  several 
alterations  I  had  suggested,  and  there  the  rich,  warm 
colors  that  Pintal's  taste  had  chosen.  Of  course,  it 
was  a  copy.  No  doubt,  my  picture  had  been  stolen 
at  the  fire,  or  found  its  way  by  mistake  among  the 
"  traps  "  of  other  people.  Then  it  had  been  sold  at 
auction — some  Chinaman  had  bought  it — it  had 
been  shipped  to  Canton  or  Hong  Kong — some  one 
of  the  thousand  "  artists "  of  China  Street  or  the 
Victoria  Road  had  copied  it  for  the  American  market. 
A  shipload  of  Chinese  goods — Canton  crape  shawls, 
camphor-boxes,  carved  toys,  curiosities,  and  pictures 
— had  been  sold  in  Honolulu — and  here  it  was. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE   GREEN   CLOTH. 


It  was  a  common  saying  among  us,  Old  Califor- 
nians  of  Forty-nine,  tliat  there  was  no  such  light  for 
shining  through  a  man  as  that  of  the  first  great  fire. 
In  its  strong  glare  the  philosophic  spectator  became 
clairvoyant,  and  his  subject  transparent.  Morally, 
your  scrutiny  pierced  the  heart  of  the  San  Franciscan 
then,  and  in  the  same  glance  you  took  in  the  letter, 
full  of  his  mother's  pious  admonitions,  in  his  breast- 
pocket, and  the  revolver  in  its  belt  at  his  back — as  in 
Harlequin  Faust  you  sec,  through  the  sad-colored 
waistcoat  of  Mephistophiles,  the  three  red-hot  buttons 
on  his  coat  behind.  The  shade  was  drawn  back  from 
the  human  dark-lantern,  and  flaming  passions  within, 
blazing  through  the  bull's  eye,  lit  up  all  around.  Then 
you  recognised  any  man  by  the  light  of  his  neighbor's 


The  Green  Cloth.  167 

soul.  Tlicu  the  cardinal  virtues,  like  certain  coiniuon 
necessaries  of  life,  met  with  an  appreciation  naturally 
enhanced  by  their  scarcity.  Honesty  was  a  high 
trump  card.  Indeed,  to  pursue  the  appropriate  local 
figure,  society  was  as  the  favorite  game,  wherein 
everybody  pretended  to  play  "  on  the  square ;"  when 
your  adversary,  having  seen  your  last  "brag,"  stopped 
"  going  better,"  and  called  your  band,  if  you  hap- 
pened to  bold  a  single  sterling  trait,  it  was  sure  to  be 
received  as  the  four  aces,  which  can  "  rake  down  any 
kind  of  a  pile." 

It  was  strange  how  soon,  and  how  surely,  the  origi- 
nal Satan  in  every  new  arrival  asserted  himself.  The 
enterprising  publican  who,  regardless  of  expense,  first 
brought  a  wagon-load  of  ice  into  Sacramento  City, 
from  the  Sierra  Nevada,  and  introduced  his  grati-ful 
fellow-citizens  to  a  new  pleasure  in  the  shape  of 
brandy-smashes  at  half  a  dollar  a  drink,  had  been  two 
years  before,  president  of  a  far-reaching  society  of 
Washingtonians  in  Philadelphia,  and  out-Goughed 
Gough  in  wondrous  apocalypses  of  cold  water.  The 
white-ncckclothed    and   single-minded   brother   who. 


i68  The  New. 

when  the  Graham  House  was  opened,  iinclertook,  for 
tlie  higliest  bid,  the  bar  and  coffee-stand,  two  billiard 
tables,  one  rondo,  three  roulette,  two  faro,  and  six 
monte  ditto,  had,  within  the  twelvemonth,  ridden  an 
apostolic  circuit  in  Alabama,  dispensing  pious  tracts 
from  a  green  bag. 

This  same  Gossage — that  was  the  name  of  the  re- 
tired tract-monger — afforded,  in  his  own  character  and 
habits,  an  amusing  example  of  how  a  man  could  get 
imbued  with  the  peculiar  vice  of  the  time  ;  and  that 
was  the  game  of  Brag — Brag,  and  the  hard  old  vices 
of  its  kindred.  Bluff  and  Poker.  Brag  was  in  all  the 
air,  and  you  breathed  it  unwholesomely,  to  the  taint- 
ing of  your  blood  ;  its  principles  soaked  through  your 
very  clothes,  as  it  were,  and  percolated  your  pores. 
There  were  men,  all  around  you,  who  believed  in 
nothing  but  Brag,  who  swore  by  Brag,  who  lived  on 
Brag,  who,  if  needs  must,  would  die  for  Brag.  Of  such 
was  Gossage  ;  and  he  shall  serve  for  my  representative 
brao-o-er,  of  whom  a  characteristic  anecdote,  familiar  to 
many  Forty -Niners,  may  illustrate  my  meaning. 

We  Old  Californians  hold  in  respectful  remembrance 


The   Green   Cloth.  l6(j 

"  MofTut's  Coin,"  as  thcj  were  called — pretty  five- 
dollar  gold  pieces,  fac-si miles  of  the  federal  half-eagles, 
save  in  the  substitution,  on  the  reverse,  of  the  words 
"Moffat  &  Co."  for  "United  States  of  America."'^ 
They  were  a  god-send  in  the  days  when  the  great 
dearth  of  standard  money  among  us  subjected  us  to 
all  manner  of  inconvenience,  not  to  mention  serious 
losses  by  the  discount  on  gold-dust  as  a  legal  tender 
in  trade.  It  was  said  that  they  even  exceeded  in  value, 
by  one  per  cent.,  their  namesakes  of  the  National 
Mint.  At  all  events,  we  were  very  happy  in  them, 
and  had  no  patience  with  the  suspicious  egotism  of 
"Wall  Street,  which  ignored  them  altogether,  bringing 
them  into  bad  odor  abroad,  so  that  they  were  from  the 
first,  quite  useless,  except  for  the  behests  of  our  small 
local  traffic.  Very  soon  they  were  called  in  from  their 
brief  hour  of  circulation,  to  be  melted  into  ingots  for 
home  shipments ;  and  so,  uttei'ly  disappeared  from  the 
pockets  of  our  citizens,  and  even  from  the  green 
boards  of  the  gamblers.  Six  months  from  the  date  of 
their  brilliant  apparition,  a  specimen  was  "good  for  sore 
eyes,"  and  would  command  a  premium  as  a  curiosity. 


lyo  The  New. 

One  day,  not  many  weeks  before  Col,  Bonner  and 
the  proprietor  emptied  their  revolvers  at  each  other 
across  the  bar  —  and  by  the  same  token  the  City 
Fathers  found  the  bullets  sticking  in  the  wall  when 
they  installed  themselves  in  those  premises,  in  the 
name  of  Law  and  Order — -a.  crowd  of  miners,  mecha- 
nics, clerks,  "  learned-professioners,"  and  other  amateur 
gamesters,  being  met  in  the  saloon  of  the  Graham 
House,  the  conversation  among  a  knot  of  thirsty  souls, 
who  waited  for  brandy-smashes,  turned  on  Califor- 
nia currency  in  general,  and  Moffat's  coin  in  particu- 
lar. Their  sudden  apparition  and  e vanishment  were 
remarked  upon,  and  one  or  two  had  specimens  to 
show,  which  they  prized  next  to  half-cents,  or  certain 
curious  political  coppers  of  the  Jackson  campaigns,  in- 
scribed "  Not  one  cent  for  Tribute,  Millions  for  De- 
fense." The  bragging  ear  of  Gossage  caught  its  cue, 
as  he  was  toying  idly  at  a  faro-table  with  a  few  red 
counters. 

"  Gave  half  an  ounce  apiece  for  them  Moffat  kines, 
did  you  ?  Dreadful  green  of  you,  I  must  say.  Why 
I've  got  a  thousand  of  them  myself;  and  if  any  gen- 


The  Green  Cloth. 


171 


tlcman  with  a  turn  for  kinc-fancying,  would  hkc  to 
lill  a  cabinet  or  a  cart  with  just  such  fellows  as  them, 
for  a  small  deduction  from  the  last  price,  I  should  be 
glad  to  accommodate  him.  Talk  of  half-cents,  now  ; 
they  arc  something  like — should  like  to  give  a  dollar 
for  one  myself.  But  eight  dollars  for  Moffat's  kine  is 
a  leetle  enthusiastic,  if  not  green." 

Mr.  Gossage  was  no  stranger  to  most  of  his  audience ; 
and  this  new,  and  somewhat  bolder,  exhibition  of  his 
ruling  passion  would  have  ehcited  no  more  than  a 
quiet  smile  from  the  sophisticated  circle,  but  for  the 
presence  of  two  or  three  new  arrivals,  who  ex- 
pressed their  appreciation  of  what  they  considered 
"  high  old  blowing,"  in  a  burst  of  hilarity,  wherein 
their  astonishment  was  not  unmixed  with  disrespect- 
ful incredulity.  Such  popular  ejaculations,  expres- 
sive of  a  good-natured  doubt,  as  "  G-a-s !  "  "  Over 
the  left  1 "  "  Hi,  hi,  lii !  "  etc.,  broke  from  these  brusque 
new-comers. 

Now  Gossage  was  at  home.  "If  any  gentleman 
would  back  his  disbelief  to  the  extent  of  a  few 
ounces,  he  would  be  happy  to  size  his  pile." 


172  The  New. 

"Hi,  lii,  hi!  Oil  yes;  five  thousand  dollars,  you 
know,  lying — where  did  you  say  you  kept  tliem,  Mr. 
Gossage  ?  " 

"  In  my  trunk,  sir ! — in  my  room,  sir  ! — in  this 
house,  sir! " 

"  Oh,  yes — lying  about  loose,  not  even  tied  up,  like 
Tom  Carter's  milk.  Eeady  money  worth  twelve  per 
cent,  a  month,  too,  and  he  with  twelve  banks  in 
monte  and  faro — Hi,  hi,  hi !  " 

"xVll  very  fine,  gentlemen,"  Gossage  said,  "but  hi, 
hi,  hi,  ain't  nuther  arguments  nor  manners.  Facts  is 
facts,  and  oj)inions  as  is  opinions  is  worth  backing. 
I'm  ready  to  back  my  facts  as  high  as  any  man's 
moderate  pile,  and  if  I'm  deceived  in  'em  I'm  willing 
.to  pay  for  the  disapp'intment," 

"  Pshaw,  Gossage,"  said  some  one,  "  what's  the  use 
of  trying  on  that  old  dodge  at  your  time  of  life  ? 
Why  don't  you  take  your  brag  in  the  natural  way, 
especially  when  everybody  knows  your  game  ?" 

But  Mr.  Gossage  began  now  to  have  a  grievance; 
he  felt  hurt:  "He  had  asserted  a  thing,  and  he 
thought  he  was  good  for  all  it  would  cost  to  prove  it; 


Tlic   Green   Clotli.  1 73 

it  was  luird  if  lie  coulilii't  j^^et  tlic  cliunco.  If  lie  was 
bliifiing,  here  was  an  ()j)p(jrtuiiity  for  gents  of  spirit 
to  take  tlie  coiiecit  out  of  him." 

A  quiet  young  man  who  had  remained  from  the 
lirst,  in  the  baekground,  seemingly  only  an  amused 
spectator,  here  came  Ibrward,  and  said  he  quite 
agreed  witli  ^fr.  Gossage.  Mr,  Gossage's  veracity 
was  at  stake  on  an  interesting  question,  and  he  was 
in  favor  of  Mr.  Gossage's  having  a  fair  show.  Gentle- 
men sliouhl  not  be  too  hard  on  Mr.  Gossage.  True, 
he  would  have,  occasionally,  his  httle  outside  game 
of  bluff,  by  way  of  joke  merely.  But  this  time  he 
wjis  evidently  serious  and  sincere.  Mr.  Gossage's 
feelings  ought  not  to  be  trifled  with;  gentlemen  wTrc 
wrong  to  twit  him  with  his  little  peculiarities.  For 
his  own  i>art,  lie  tlid  not  believe  a  word  Mr.  Gossage 
li;id  said  about  the  Moffats.  Kot  that  he  doubted  ^\y. 
Gossage's  word — oh,  by  no  means;  he  (Hilv  tliouglit 
he  saw  the  blufV  sticking  out.  He  wished  he  ha<l 
:is  many  dollars  as  he  did  not  believe  in  thos(>  ^rolliits. 
He  was  ready  not  to  l)elieve  in  them — sav  two  liuii- 
di'ed  dollars  worth,  whieh  was  all  he  had  about  him. 


174  The  New. 

Mr.  Gossage  "  knew  his  young  friend  was  a  gentle- 
man bj  tlie  remark  lie  made — a  man  of  spirit  and 
disposed  to  do  things  on  the  sqiiare.  Them  'ere  ob- 
serwations  of  his'n  was  worthy  of  his  head  and  heart. 
He  would  meet  his  little  pile." 

So  the  four  hundred  dollars  were  forthwith  pro- 
duced, and  placed  in  the  hands  of  a  "  mutual  friend." 
Then  with  sudden  gravity — for  a  suicide,  or  a  mur- 
der, or  a  hanging  match  was,  in  those  days,  a  less 
grave  affair  than  an  extraordinary  bet,  even  for  so 
small  a  sum  as  two  hundred  dollars — all  turned  to- 
ward the  stairs  by  which  they  were  to  make  their 
way  to  the  chamber  of  the  treasure ;  but,  first,  all  took 
another  drink  at  Gossage's  expense,  and  it  was  agreed 
that  the  winner  should  treat  the  crowd  to  champagne. 

To  the  Gossage  apartments  were  many  stairs,  with 
their  corresponding  landings.  At  the  top  of  the  first 
flight  Gossage  stopped,  and  turned  to  his  company,  as 
one  who  suddenly  recollects  an  important  something. 
There  was  a  "pint"  on  which  he  would  like  to 
understand  the  gentleman.  Did  the  gentleman  in- 
tend to  avail  himself  of  the  leading  maxim  to  which 


The  Green  Cloth  175* 

all  fancy  gentlemen  subscribe — namely,  that  betting 
on  a  certainty  goes  for  nothing — that  a  wager  is 
made  null  and  void  by  positive  foreknowledge,  with 
conclusive  assurance  of  the  result,  on  the  part  of 
either  better  ?  If  yes,  they  need  go  no  further,  for  he 
was  betting  on  a  certainty. 

No,  the  gentleman  unconditionally  waived  all  that ; 
he  would  take  all  the  risks — somewhat  facetiously 
adding  that  Mr.  Gossage's  certainties  were  an  excep- 
tion to  the  general  rule. 

Mr.  Gossage,  with  a  reproachful  look,  went  on, 
only  remarking  that  he  was  glad  they  understood 
each  other;  he  presumed  the  gentleman  knew^  his 
own  business  best. 

Flight  No.  2  :  ]\[r.  Gossage  stops  again — stands  for 
a  moment  suspended,  as  it  were — all  silent ;  'Mr.  Gos- 
sage appears  to  be  about  to  make  a  speech  ;  he  does 
make  a  short  one.  "  True,  gambling  was  his  trade  and 
the  cards  was  his  tools ;  but  there  was  a  time  for  every- 
thing, and  at  sich  times  as  it  suited  him  so  to  do,  he 
hoped  he  could  conduct  himself  as  a  gentleman,  and 
a  man  whose  heart  is  in  the  right  place.     He  had  not 


176  The  New. 

the  honor  to  be  personally  acquainted  with  his  young 
friend,  whom  he  met  on  this  occasion  for  the  first 
time — and  happy  he  was  to  find  him  a  gent  after 
his  own  heart.  The  brother  might  be  a  man  of  inde- 
pendent fortin,  the  tallest  kind  of  a  pile;  and  then 
agin  he  moughtn't.  Howsever,  he  was  willing  to 
give  the  gentleman  a  fair  shake,  to  treat  him  on  the 
square.  Far  be  it  from  him  to  poke  his  fingers  into 
a  gent's  pocket,  as  never  did  him  no  harm,  and  clean 
him  out  like.  Gents  as  knew  Tom  Gossage  knew  he 
was  oncapable  of  sich.  The  brother  was  apperiently 
a  person  of  feeling  and  refinery.  He  hoped  Tom 
Gossage  was  the  same  in  his  'umble  style.  There- 
fore, he  wished,  in  a  friendly  way,  to  exposterlate 
with  his  young  friend.  Might  not  the  brother  be 
rushing  at  his  puddles,  rayther  resky  ?  He  was 
agreeable  to  let  the  gentleman  up." 

The  "  brother  "  returned  thanks.  He  was  touched 
b}'  Mr.  Gossage's  kind  consideration.  Those  who 
knew  Mr.  Gossage  better  than  he  did,  would  no  doubt 
say  that  it  was  all  quite  natural,  just  like  Tom  Gos- 
sage; but  he  confessed  he  was  touched.     Neverthe- 


The  Grtcn  Cloth.  177 

less,  lie  preferred  not  to  be  let  up.  The  bet  was  a 
fijood  bet,  and  he  thought  it  would  keep — it  was,  in- 
deed, a  delightful  bet,  if  only  in  having  been  the 
means  of  introducing  him  to  his  honorable  friend. 
lie  would  rather  not  part  with  it. 

Mr.  Gossagc  was  touched,  in  his  turn ;  there  was  a 
trace  of  sadness  in  his  air,  as  he  resumed  the  ascent. 

Flight  No.  3  :  Once  for  all,  Mr.  Gossage  wished  to 
know  how  far  the  gentleman  meant  to  carry  this  joke, 
if  it  was  a  joke.  If  the  gentleman  was  in  earnest, 
the  gentleman  must  excuse  him,  but  he  considered  the 
gentleman  a  damned  fool.  The  brother  must  recollect 
that  his,  the  speaker's,  character,  as  a  man  of  honor, 
was  at  stake.  If  he  took  the  gentleman's  pile,  other 
brethren,  outsiders,  would  say  he  hadn't  done  the 
clean  thing  by  the  gentleman.  He  would  like  to  hear 
any  gent  say  that ;  any  gent  would  oblige  him  by 
putting  in  that  insinerwation :  he  would  be  happy 
to  bet  any  brother  fifty,  or  a  hundred,  or  a  hundred 
and  fifty,  or  two  hundred  dollars,  that  no  man 
in  the-  crowd  had  the  cheek  to  put  in  that  insiner- 
wation. 


lyS  The  New. 

The  gentleman  hoped  not.  Did  Mr.  Gossage  live 
inside  the  house,  or  out  on  the  roof? 

Mr.  Gossage  walks  straight  to  a  door,  and,  with 
indignant  resolution  expressed  in  his  countenance, 
lays  his  hand  on  the  knob,  takes  from  his  pocket  a 
key,  applies  it  to  the  lock,  turns  it. 

"  You'd  better  not." 

"  Oh,  I  think  I  will." 

"No,  don't.  Upon  my  soul,  I  don't  like  to.  Say 
you  think  better  of  it,  in  time.  Then  I'll  just  show 
you  the  kine,  to  amuse  you,  stand  the  champagne 
myself,  and  say  notliiug  about  it." 

Omnes:  "Hi,  hi,  hi!" 

Mr.  Gossage  throws  open  the  door  violently ;  leaps 
to  the  side  of  a  narrow  iron  bedstead ;  drags  from 
underneath  it  a  scurvy  hair  trunk,  rather  easy  to 
handle ;  goes  down  on  his  knees  and  opens  it  with  a 
small  key,  fished  out  from  the  profound  of  his  breeches 
pocket. 

"You  will,  will  you?" 

"Yes,  sir-ee." 

Mr,  Gossage  tosses  up  the  lid  of  the  scurvy  rattle-trap. 


The  Green  Cloth. 


179 


Two   stumps  of  cigars,  a  box  of  percussion  caps, 
ami  a  pack  of  cards  I 


"  Boys,"  says  Mr.  Gossagc,  out  of  the  corner  of  his 
eye,  "  you've  got  mc^  this  timo,  whrrc  the  hair's  sliort." 


i8o  The  New. 

In  truth,  tlie  Gossages  were  the  "  remarkable  men" 
of  the  day.  They  constituted  a  controlhng  chiss,  with 
whom  was  all  the  moral,  physical,  and  financial  force. 
Abounding  in  ready  resources  of  no  particular  nature, 
and  unscrupulous  in  the  application  of  them — them- 
selves well  stocked  with  the  adventurer's  courage,  and 
their  courage  im]30singly  backed  up  with  six-shooters ; 
numbering  in  their  society,  whether  as  professionals  or 
amateurs,  many  of  the  "  first  men  of  the  city  ;"  having 
the  largest  show  of  "  smartness,"  if  not  of  a  purer  intel- 
lectuality and  culture — of  sophisticated  observation, 
reckless  enterprise,  and,  best  of  all,  cash ;  paying  the 
highest  rents,  monopolizing  the  most  desirable  busi- 
ness sites,  promj^t  in  applying  every  new  and  admira- 
ble improvement,  commanding  every  comfort  that 
invention  or  expensive  labor  could  sujiply — every 
luxury  that  fine  raiment,  and  pictures,  and  shows, 
and  music,  and  wine,  and  a  motley  "  world  of  ladies" 
could  stand  for — no  wonder  that  they  swayed  the 
city,  and  carried  the  day  with  a  high  hand.  No 
w^onder,  indeed,  for  they  paid  twelve  per  cent,  a 
month  for  monej^,  and  were  ready  to  take  all  they 


The  Green  Clotli.  181 

could  get  at  lliat  i)iice,  ofteriiig  securities  in  faro  fur- 
niture, the  good-will  and  fixtures  of  a  hell  of  decan- 
ters and  ivory  counteis,  a  lease,  a  house,  a  water-lot, 
a  mine. 

Moreover,  the  gauihlei-  ul'  ]'\jrty-Nino  was  no  vul- 
gar rogue,  or  villain  of  the  sordid  strijie;  he  had  his 
aspirations ;  it  was  lat  and  proud  game  he  hunted, 
and  he  })Ut  his  own  life  into  the  chase.  lie  had  his 
sentiments,  more  or  less  exalted,  according  to  the ' 
location  of  his  tables  and  the  quality  of  his  friends. 
The  fifty-cent  roulette-twirler  or  thimble-rigger,  of 
Pacific  Street  or  Little  Sidney,  might  not  be  so  sub- 
lime and  imposing  in  his  definitions  of  honor  as  the 
thousand-dollar  faro-dealer  of  the  Parker  House  or  El 
Dorado ;  but  he  was  sure  to  be  twice  as  noisy  and 
exacting.  "Gentlemen,"  he  would  say — no  word 
half  so  often  on  his  lips  as  that — "  Gentlemen,  we 
plays  on  tlic  square  ;  if  we  doesn't  play  on  the  square, 
difheulties,  and  onpleasantncsses,  and  six-shooters  is 
liable.  Gentlemen,  I  hope  we  are  all  honorable  men  ; 
we'll  have  our  little  game,  peaceable  and  on  the  square 
if  we  can,  Ijut  wc  will  have  it  any  lunv,  by  thunder!" 


i82  The  New. 

In  the  Bella  Union,  or  the  California  Exchange, 
aristocratically  pitched  on  the  Plaza,  the  style  of  con- 
versation across  the  green  cloth,  in  cases  of  "  diffi- 
culty," was  different,  being  more  debonair,  not  so 
broad : 

"  A  moment,  if  yon  please,"  quietly  remarks  an 
almost  beardless  desperado,  covering  his  pile  with  a 
firm  hand,  and  fixing  dangerous  eyes  on  the  burly 
dealer  of  monte  whom  he  addresses — "  You  can  stop 
there." 

"Well,  sir?" 

"Well — excuse  me,  but  I  think  you  drew  two 
cards." 

"  I  believe  not.  I'll  take  your  pile,  if  you  please ; 
the  kerwaiyo  takes  it." 

"  Two  cards !" 

"  Your  money !' 

And  in  each  case  the  words  are  accompanied  by  a 
quick  but  quiet  movement  which  discloses  a  revolver. 
With  the  appearance  of  these  two  new  disputants — 
polished,  curt,  of  brief  but  sharp  and  downright  speech 
— ^there  is  a  quick  but  fussless  stir  among  the  spectators 


The  Green  Cloth.  183 

around  the  table.  In  a  moment  a  clear  space  is 
formed,  in  the  midst  of  a  still  circle  of  fla.sliing  eyes, 
compressed  lips,  and  clenched  hands.  You  may  count 
twenty,  deliberately,  ere  you  hear  a  breath  drawn,  or 
see  the  slightest  movement. 

"  Well,  sir?" 

"  Well  I" 

"  Your  money  I" 

"  Your  cards !" 

Up  steps  a  by-standcr — some  cool,  steady  veteran, 
expert  in  the  game,  and  versed  in  the  law  of  diffi- 
culties— a  man  of  awful  nerve,  whose  tympanum, 
accustomed  to  the  crack,  no  pistol-shot  alarms. 

"  Gentlemen,"  says  he,  "  try  arbitration  first." 

Another  quick  exchange  of  inquiring  and  respon- 
sive glances  between  the  disputants.  Not  a  word ; 
but  the  eyes  of  each  plainly  say,  "  Agreed."  Botli 
throw  themselves  back  in  their  chairs,  and  withdraw 
their  hands  from  the  table,  with  the  air  of  men  invit- 
ing examination,  and  resolute  to  abide  the  result. 
The  veteran  calls  up  two  Brothers  of  the  Green  Cloth, 
competent  to   act  as  umpires;    and   three   minutes, 


184  The  New. 

frauglit  witli  mortcal  danger,  are  passed  in  deliberately 
counting  the  cards  as  they  lie  on  the  cloth,  and 
naming  them  slowly — like  the  tolling  of  a  bell,  or  the 
measured  pronunciation  of  a  death  sentence.  Except 
that,  there  has  been  no  noise  but  the  simultaneous 
clicking  of  two  j)istol  locks.  The  dealer  and  his 
young  vis-a-vis  are  seemingly  strangely  unconcerned 
for  the  event. 

"  You  are  wrong,  my  friend,"  says  Veteran  ;  "no 
double  card  was  drawn  here.  Mistakes  will  happen 
to  the  most  careful  gentlemen." 

From  that  decision  there  is  no  appeal.  His  finger 
on  the  trigger,  after  that,  would  have  cost  the  young 
fellow  his  life.  So  pistols  go  back  to  their  sleeping- 
places,  hands  are  shaken  across  the  table,  drinks  for 
the  company,  at  the  expense  of  the  "  bucker" — as  he 
who  plays  against  the  bank  is  called  ;  and  the  game 
proceeds  with  a  better  understanding. 

Had  the  result  of  the  examination  been  otherwise, 
a  man  or  two  would  have  been  killed  presently. 

Thus,  the  law  being  to  play  Mr  or  die,  and  the 
finest  distinctions  of  the  meum  and  tuum  defined  by 


Tlic  Green   Cloth.  185 

lli(3  pi.slol,  it  is  easy  to  understand  that  lliere  were 
honest  gamblers  in  San  Francisco  in  Forty-Nine.  In- 
deed, I  will  go  so  lar  as  to  assert  that,  as  a  class,  no 
others  wore  so  strict  and  punctual  in  all  their  dcalingi?. 
The  signatui-e  of  a  Gossagc,  in  good  standing,  passed 
at  })ar  ibr  the  sum  it  was  responsible  for.  No  invest- 
ment safer  or  more  profitable  than  a  loan  to  him — no 
claim  easier  of  collection.  I  have  seen  our  young 
I'liend  of  the  "Old  Adobe,"  Mr.  John  Coit,  when  he 
had  just  been  "  cleaned  out,"  borrow  a  thousand  dol- 
lars from  the  nearest  tal)le,  giving  no  more  formal 
bond  than  a  (piarter  of  a  dollar  with  a  few  mysterious 
scratches  on  its  face ;  yet,  among  bis  fraternity  that 
curit)us  I.  0.  U.  would  pass  current  for  a  month — the 
mystic  coin  good  as  the  best  paper  on  Wall  Street  for 
the  thousand  dollars  it  stood  for,  until  it  suited  ]\rr. 
Coit  to  redeem  it,  perhaps  from  fourth  or  fifth  hands. 
Nor  were  these  men,  though  most  dangerous  on 
certain  professional  points,  by  any  means  habitually 
quarrelsome.  On  the  contrary,  they  were  often  the 
])eace-makers  of  a  fierce  crowd  whose  explosive  pas- 
sions were  stirred — constituting  themselves  an  extem- 


i86  The  New. 

poraneous  Yigilance  Committee  in  the  name  of  tlie 
Law  and  Order  they  had  themselves  set  up  for  the 
occasion  ;  and  then  woe  to  the  refractory  ! 

At  one  of  the  monte-tables  in  a  saloon  on  Kearney 
street,  the  game  was  dealt  by  a  slender,  pale,  young 
man,  almost  a  stripling,  and  with  seemingly  the  deli- 
cate organization  of  a  girl— his  lips  soft,  his  eyes  gen- 
tle, his  hands  small  and  fair,  his  hair  fine,  no  beard 
save  a  slight  moustache — his  attire  well  fitting  and 
scrupulously  neat,  his  air  pensive,  his  ways  always 
quiet.  One  evening  an  ugly  brute,  of  the  Pike 
County  breed,  burly  and  blustering,  his  naturally 
vicious  temper  heated  to  hideous  fierceness  by  rum, 
seated  himself  at  tliis  young  man's  table  and  called  for 
a  "lay  out"  of  the  cards.  His  manner,  provoking 
from  the  first,  soon  became  intolerably  insulting,  and 
he  assailed  the  dealer  with  outrageous  taunts  and 
menaces,  accusing  him  of  cheating,  and  with  abusive 
oaths  refusing  to  pay  over  the  stakes  the  bank  had 
won. 

The   dealer,  patient  and  long-suffering,   and  soft- 
spoken   to  the    last,    gently  remonstrated   with  the 


The  Green  Cloth.  187 

hnlly,  as  with  one  irresponsible,  and  whose  ugly  man- 
ners were  his  misfortune.  At  last  tlie  fellow,  de- 
eeived  by  the  gracious  demeanor  of  his  reluctant 
antagonist,  demanded  the  refunding  of  his  losses, 
which  were  of  mean  amount — for  he  had  been  play- 
ing rather  for  a  quarrel  than  for  money — and  threat- 
ened to  cut  the  dealer's  heart  out,  if  he  did  not  in- 
stantly "  fork  over."  To  this  the  young  man  replied 
by  leaping  nimbly  across  the  table,  and  dragging  him 
by  the  hair  from  his  seat.  Instantly  the  bully  drew 
a  formidable  bowie-knife ;  but  before  he  could  make 
a  lunge,  a  quick,  sharp,  shot-like  blow  from  the  lady- 
like fist,  delivered  with  scientific  precision  and  force, 
sent  him  down,  his  weapon  flying  from  his  hand.  And 
again,  and  again,  as  he  sprang,  with  remarkable  agility, 
and  much  spunk,  to  his  feet,  he  went  down,  and  down, 
'^i'ill  at  last,  half-stunned,  blind  with  blood  and  quite 
bewildered  and  helpless,  he  sat  on  the  floor  and  fairly 
cried :  "  Enough !  enough  1  you  are  too  much  for  me. 
"Who  the  devil  are  you  ?" 

The  young  man,  whose  face  was  scarcely  flushed 
with  the  exercise,  and  whose  eye  at  once  resumed  its 


i88  The  New. 

softness,  and  Iiis  air  its  quiet,  said :  "  My  friend,  get 
up" — at  the  same  time  assisting  Lim  ;  "you  are  a 
great  fool.  My  name  is — "  Well,  never  mind  his 
name ;  there  are  but  few  Americans  to  whom  it  is 
not  familiar ;  even  a  transatlantic  notoriety  attaches 
to  it.  It  is  the  name  of  a  blood-stained  hero  of  the 
ring,  who  killed  his  man,  some  years  ago,  in  one  of 
the  most  protracted  and  cruel  gladiatorial  encounters 
recorded  in  the  shocking  annals  of  pugilism.  That 
man  was  one  of  the  most  exemplary  of  law-abiding 
San  Franciscans  in  Forty -Nine.  Those  dreadful  fists 
were  never  used  save  to  restore  order. 

Poor  Tom  Cross  !  his  was  a  queer,  sad  case.  Tom 
was  a  gentleman's  son  from  New  Orleans — with  fair 
mental  parts,  a  superior  education,  winning  address, 
and  a  most  generous  soul.  His  were  that  fatal  un- 
thrift  which  takes  no  care  for  the  morrow,  "  that  no 
man  ever  saw,"  and  that  adventurer's  passion  for 
hazards,  that  go  to  make  up  the  most  tolerable  type 
of  gamester.  Full  of  pitiful  promptings,  any  hope- 
forsaken  wretch — purse-broken,  health-broken,  heart- 
broken,   who   had    dragged    his    racked  joints,   his 


Thp  Green  Cloth.  189 

chills,  and  liis  <]esj)air,  all  the  wiiy  from  the  mines, 
Ixrkoned  onward  by  the  cruel  angel  of  an  iinattain- 
ahle  home,  an  irreecn'erahle  mother,  and  an  iini)os- 
sil)l(;  earthly  n-st — was  a  god-send  to  the  Abraham's 
])osom  of  l^oni  Cross's  prosperity.  And  when  at  last 
he  struck  a  vein  of  bad  luck,  and  ty])hoid  fever 
broke  the  bank  of  his  good  spirits,  lie  proposed,  be- 
tween the  spoonfuls  of  his  beef- tea,  to  deal  for  Jack 
with  me,  double  or  quits,  for  the  bill  he  thought  I 
was  scoring  against  him.  lie  won  ;  and  then  we 
turned  the  cards  again,  double  or  quits,  for  the  doc- 
toring of  the  rheumatic  Digger  Indian  in  the  next  tent. 
One  evening  I  found  Tom  much  worse  ;  he  had 
l)cen  silting  u[)  in  a  draught  of  cold,  damp  air,  all  the 
art(>rnoon,  })laying  solitaii'c.  I  tucked  his  Afaeki- 
naw  blank'rt  warmly  about  him,  and  exacted  his  pro- 
mise that  he  would  keep  under  its  shelter  till  I  re- 
turned. Late  that  night,  imjiellcd  by  painful  fore- 
bo(ling^',  I  made  my  way  to  his  tent  in  Happy  Val- 
ley. It  was  empty — no  Tom  there.  In  an  adjoin- 
ing shanty,  an  old  Texan  Ranger,  with  the  dysen- 
tery, said  Tom  had  been  there,  much  improved  and 


190 


The  New. 


in  higli  spirits,  and  had  taken  a  hand  for  one  turn  at 
high-low-jack.  He  had  left  for  his  blankets  again, 
about  half  an  hour  since.  I  had  some  trouble  to  find 
Lim.  He  lay  in  a  thick  clump  of  bushes,  some  yards 
off— dead.  There  was  an  old  worn-out  ace  of  hearts 
in  his  trowsers  pocket,  with  two  lines  written  on  it 
with  a  lead-pencil — "  Good-by,  mother !  Pardon  and 
love  poor  Tom."  It  had  evidently  been  prepared 
some  time  before,  and  kept  there  in  case  of  accident. 

In  the  latter  months  of  Forty-Nine,  a  number  of 
professional  gamblers,  in  large  practice,  were  residing 
at  the  Graham  House — among  the  rest,  two  who  were 
especially  remarkable  for  the  boldness  of  their  play, 
and  the  steadiness  of  their  business  nerves.  These 
were  a  hunchback,  named  Briggs,  and  Joe  Bassett,  a 
better  sort  of  graduate  of  the  old  Vicksburg  school. 
Both  had  been  signally  successful  in  many  sharp 
operations  during  the  year,  and  had  acquired  a  con- 
siderable property  in  lots,  which,  for  their  convenience 
in  business,  they  had  converted  into  cash,  and  banked, 
partly  with  Burgoyne  or  Wright,  partly  on  various 
monte-tables. 


The  Green   Cloth.  I9I 

One  (lay,  in  an  al\cr-(linncr  cliat,  they  compared 
notes,  and  found  tliat  tliey  stood  equally  fairly  on 
the  gamblers'  'change,  each  being  good  for  just  one 
hundred  and  twenty  thousand  dollars  in  immediately 
available  dust.  Being  both  ipore  than  usually  enter- 
prising under  the  inspiration  of  wine,  Briggs  offered 
a  daring  banter,  which  was  recklessly  accepted  by  Bas- 
se tt — that  they  should  at  once  adjourn  to  an  upper  faro 
room,  fill  up  each  a  check  for  the  entire  sum  he  was 
worth  in  cash,  divide  equally  between  them  two  hun- 
dred and  forty  thousand  dollars  in  red  checks,  and  play 
brag  for  the  whole — neither  to  leave  the  room,  on  any 
pretext,  until  all  the  red  checks  were  lost  and  won.  Ac- 
cordingly, with  not  less  equanimity  and  pleasant  sin- 
gleness of  purpose,  they  retired,  with  a  few  choice 
spirits  of  their  set,  to  the  privacy  of  a  reserved  apart- 
ment, and  having  provided  store  of  choice  liquor, 
cigars,  and  viands  for  the  company,  executed  the 
required  documents,  divided  the  rosy  counters,  took 
tlioir  seats  at  opposite  sides  of  the  table,  and  began 
their  extraordinary  and  most  interesting  contest — a 
contest  which  called  out  such  feats  of  memory,  saga- 


192 


The  New. 


city,  discrimination,  self-possession,  quick  recognition 
of  signs  and  detection  of  sly  finesse,  sucli  fine  feints, 
nimble  tlirusts  and  parries,  hot  assaults,  and  well- 
ordered  retreats,  as  would  have  made  the  fortune  and 
the  fame  of  a  statesman,  a  general,  or  a  fencing- 
master. 

The  first  deal  was  made  at  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, and  the  game  went  on  with  changing  fortune 
all  night.  At  the  elbow  of  each  stood  a  glass  of 
water,  moderately  treated  with  brandy.  Neither 
smoked — a  cloud  between  them  would  have  been  as 
culpable  a  blunder  as  the  sun  in  the  eyes  of  a  duellist. 
Ten  o'clock  next  morning  found  them  yet  in  their 
places — ^both  looking  somewhat  pale  and  fagged,  but 
very  quiet.  Briggs  had  four  thousand  dollars  left  of 
all  that  he  was  worth  in  the  world.  The  cards  were 
dealt.  The  table  at  which  they  sat  was  near  the  door 
of  the  room,  and  just  as  Bassett,  whose  "  say  "  it  was, 
was  making  up  his  mind,  some  one  entered  and  stood 
behind  him.  Briggs  eyed  his  antagonist,  over  his 
hand,  with  a  searching  stare  that  held  its  very  breath. 
Without  noticinsf  the   entrance   of  the  new-comer. 


The  Green  Cloth.  193 

with  no  flutter  of  his  cards,  ■\vith(Mit  any  startled 
ghmci',  or  even  the  movement  of  a  linger,  Biissett 
"went  six  thousand  dolhirs."  "Take  the  money," 
said  the  hunchback — and  he  took  it.  Briggs  had  two 
jacks,  Bassett  three  kings.  As  the  two  tossed  olf 
great  bumpers  of  raw  Ijraudy,  Briggs  remarked,  as 
he  rose  to  go  off  to  bed,  "  If  you  had  noticed  that 
man  I  might  have  borrowed  the  money  and  gone  on 
a  little  longer  ;  but  when  I  saw  that  you  did  not  turn 
to  look  over  your  shoulder,  or  drop  the  faces  of  your 
cards,  I  knew  you  had  a  sure  hand."  A  few  days 
after  that,  the  hunchback  invested  fifty  dollars,  bor- 
rowed from  Bassett,  in  a  miner's  outfit,  and  started 
for  the  diggins,  where  he  died  in  a  month,  a  hi/lpless 
pauj)er. 

Again  :  there  was  "  Old  Paul,"  as  he  was  called. 
Who  docs  not  remember  Old  Paul?  A  well-to-do- 
New-England-farmer-looking  man,  with  a  kindly  coni- 
l)osition  of  features  and  expression,  exemplary  and 
])atriarchal  in  his  manners — a  man  to  go  to  for  advice, 
abounding  in  various  and  instructive  experiences  of 
life,  but  full  of  benevolent  leanings  toward  the  world 


194  The  New. 

— a  man  to  lounge,  for  three  weeks  in  the  month, 
about  the  passages  and  porticoes  of  his  hotel,  in  dress- 
ing-gown and  slippers,  smoking  a  long  meerschaum 
pipe,  reading  the  "  Alta,"  or  the  latest  home  papers,  pro- 
jecting city  improvements,  discussing  grand  specula- 
tions, examining  political  aspects,  taking  the  bearings 
of  parties,  weighing  the  claims  of  influential  and  re- 
presentative men,  severely  looking  into  the  business 
of  the  Town  Council,  considering  at  large  the  state  of 
the  country,  defining  the  duties  of  Congress  toward 
California,  prophetically  portraying  the  future  of  the 
State ;  and  then — returning  to  the  city  and  its  daily 
life,  fraught  with  momentous  and  exciting  events,  full 
of  scenes  wonder-moving  and  often  most  painful — 
commending  humanitarian  projects,  exhorting  his  im- 
pressible audience  to  particij^ate  in  benevolent  enter- 
prises— the  founding  of  a  City  Hospital,  contributions 
to  a  fund  for  the  relief  of  indigent,  disabled,  and 
friendless  strangers. 

Such  was  Old  Paul  three  weeks  in  the  month. 
During  the  days  that  remained,  he  was  apt  to  assume 
a  different  character,   and   appear  in  a  rule  always 


The  Green  Cloth.  19^ 

stirring,  and  sometimes  tending  toward  tlie  tragic 
That  was  when,  casting  the  dressing-gown  and  shp- 
pers,  pipe  and  newspaper,  and  the  hberal  projects  of 
the  pubhc-spirited  citizen,  he  started  out,  dust-pouch 
in  liand,  to  make  the  round  of  the  tables.  On  such 
occasions  his  habit  was — having  provided  himself 
abundantly  with  coin  and  dust — to  take  any  prin- 
ci]")al  saloon  for  his  field  of  action,  and  disdaining 
small  play,  deliberately  set  about  breaking  banks. 
For  Old  Paul  was  in  the  wholesale  gambling  line. 
He  confided  in  the  inexhaustibility  of  his  resources, 
the  impressiveness  of  his  reputation  ;  and,  especially, 
in  his  nerve  and  the  skill  of  his  play,  his  intimate 
initiation  in  the  mysteries  of  the  various  games,  and 
his  curious  professional  acquaintance  with  the  idio- 
syncrasy of  every  considerable  dealer,  and  the  pecu- 
liar tricks  of  his  manipulation.  I  have  known  him 
to  take,  in  one  evening,  five  out  of  seven  moute 
banks,  beside  a  faro  bank  or  two,  and  seat  his  own 
dealers  at  them  to  keep  the  game  going,  on  his  pro- 
prietorial account.  Having  done  this,  he  would 
quietly  subside  again    into   dressing-gown  and  slip- 


196  The  New. 

pers,  pipe  and  newspaper,  political  economy  and 
visions  of  beneficence. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  year,  a  considerable  body 
of  the  "first  citizens"  called  out  Old  Paul  to  stand  for 
them,  a  candidate  for  the  Comptrollership.  Being 
ambitious,  and  active  citizenship  his  particular  vanity, 
he  accepted  the  invitation.  His  most  formidable 
opponent  was  a  famous  Texan  Eanger,  who  had  come 
out  of  the  Mexican  war  with  a  few  scars  and  many 
honors — an  avowed  pet  of  the  populace,  especially  of 
that  part  of  it  which  rallied  around  the  banner  of  the 
disbanded  New  York  Eegiment.  Partisan  passions 
ran  high  from  the  first;  and,  as  election  day  drew 
nigh,  bets  flew  fast  and  furious.  The  devoted  adhe- 
rents, and  paid  drummers  of  the  rival  leaders,  were 
busy  in  Plaza  and  street,  bar-room  and  gambling- 
saloon,  stirring  up  the  enthusiasm  of  the  multitude, 
glorifying  gambler  and  hero,  coaxing,  bribing,  drag- 
ging the  compliant  and  the  foolish,  the  needy,  the 
greedy,  and  the  drunk,  into  their  respective  ranks. 

On  voting  day,  the  polls  presented  an  unresting 
scene  of  delirious  excitement,  boundless  intemperance, 


The  Green  Cloth.  197 

and  angry  struggle.  Old  Paul  had  chartered  for  the 
day  the  hest-stocked  hotel  on  the  Plaza,  and  opcni-d 
free  larders  and  bars.  So,  up  to  fjur  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  the  game  seemed  going  exultingly  for  him. 
Ilis  people  cheered  his  name  uproariously  at  every 
poll,  and  the  other  side  were  growing  dumb  and  tame. 
All  at  once  the  handsome  ranger  appeared  in  the 
centre  of  the  Plaza,  gallantly  mounted  on  a  richly 
caparisoned  and  beautiful  black  horse,  lie  wore  the 
costume  and  arms  of  his  famous  corps,  and  bore  him- 
self like  a  man  who  needed  only  the  aj)parition  of  a 
sipiadron  of  Mexican  lancers,  disputing  his  passag*^, 
to  complete  his  satisfaction.  Suddenly  he  plunged 
his  ringing  Mexican  rowels  into  the  shrinking  sides 
of  his  steed,  and  dashing  down  the  slope  of  the  Plaza, 
taking  some  flying  leaps  by  the  way,  sharply  reined 
up  the  astonished  and  rearing  animal  in  the  midst  of 
an  admiring  crowd  gathered  in  front  of  the  polls  at 
the  Parker  House,  whom  he  saluted  with  a  gallant 
bow.  Then  he  treated  them  to  such  feats  of  splendid 
horsemanship  as  would  have  satisfied  Franconi  or 
Ducrow — putting  his  steed  to  the  headlong  run,  and 


198  The  New. 

bringing  bim  up  short  on  a  serape,  flung  on  the  ground 
before  him — throwing  himself  over  the  neck  of  the 
foaming  stallion,  and  firing  his  revolvers  with  uner- 
ring aim  at  small  objects  on  the  ground — leaping 
from  the  saddle  with  his  bowie-knife  in  his  mouth, 
and  recovering  his  seat,  the  horse  always  at  full  speed, 
with  the  agility  of  the  unequalled  Cadwallader — hit- 
ting doubloons  tossed  in  the  air,  again  and  again,  and 
hurling  his  knife  into  posts  with  the  precision  of  a 
Chinese  juggler. — He  was  elected. 

Three  months  later,  the  defeated  candidate  published 
in  a  Sacramento  paper  a  schedule  of  the  debts  he  had 
paid  since  he  started  for  the  mines  "with  just  seven- 
teen dollars  in  his  pocket."  Nobody  was  so  simple 
as  to  suppose  that  the  public-spirited  Paul  meant  that 
the  money  had  been  earned  with  pick  and  pan. 

Of  such  was  the  fraternity  which  swayed  the  city 
in  those  days.  The  secret  of  their  paramount  influ- 
ence lay,  as  I  have  said,  partly  in  their  harmonious 
combination  of  the  pre-eminently  American  traits — 
versatility  of  self-adaptation,  quick  appreciation  of 
striking  circumstances,  a  faculty  of  taking  accurately 


The  Green  Cloth.  199 

and  at  once  the  bearings  of  new  and  strange  situations, 
inexhaustibility  of  moral  and  material  resources,  fixity 
of  })urpose,  persistence  of  endeavor,  ready  hazard  of 
life,  unflagging  endurance,  audacity  of  enterprise, 
ever  fresh  elasticity  of  sanguine  temperament ;  but 
principally,  in  the  imposing  figures  of  an  omnipotent 
cash  capital,  wherewith  they  knew  how  to  feed  the 
enormous  cravings  of  the  people,  and  mitigate  their 
privations  and  their  pains. 

For  instance :  your  stirring  labors  for  the  day  draw- 
ing to  a  close,  what  should  you  do  next,  to  maintain 
yourself  at  that  point  of  excitement  whence  to  fall 
into  self-perusal  and  despondency  was  dreadful  and 
dangerous?  You  had  no  home,  of  course — that  lux- 
ury had  not  yet  been  introduced.  Eeading  was  not  to 
be  thought  of — you  must  have  nerves  of  steel  to  be 
capable  of  the  self-possession  necessary  to  that  tranquil 
recreation,  even  if  you  could  find  a  place  to  read  in. 
Visiting,  too,  was  a  lost  art — friends,  like  homes,  were 
as  yet  unattainable  delights.  Your  bed  was  a  horror, 
to  be  ])Ut  off  to  the  last ;  for  you  slei)t  in  a  foul  bunk 
— one  of  a  stack  of  sucli,  to  which  a  stable,  a  kennel, 


200  The  New. 

a  sty,  were  sweet — in  a  loft  over  the  bar-room ;  and  an 
atmosphere  reeking  with  stale  cigar-smoke,  and  the 
fames  of  cheap  rum,  ascended  to  your  outraged  nostrils 
through  great  gaps  in  the  floor.  But  from  across  the 
way  your  ears  were  saluted  by  sounds  of  maudlin 
hilarity  and  the  incessant  chink  and  tinkle  of  coin, 
blent  with  the  sweetest  strains  of  Bellini  or  Donizetti, 
and  the  ugly  dissonance  of  lost  women's  laughter  and 
loud  wrangling.  You  are  easily  drawn  thither — Me- 
phistojDhilcs  your  guide. 

You  plunge  into  a  lake  of  dazing  glare  and  devilish 
sorcery.  Your  eyes  open  on  a  flaring  palace  of  Pan- 
dtemon,  in  whose  festal  chambers  an  insensate  and 
debauched  herd  are  gathering  densely.  Obscene  pic- 
tures hang  around  the  walls;  a  glittering  array  of 
decanters  and  glasses  is  reflected  from  tall  mirrors ; 
there  is  the  multitudinous  chink  of  doubloons,  mixed 
with  the  chatter  of  timid  or  undecided  idlers,  and  the 
frequent  popping  of  corks;  orchestral  impertinences 
over-ride  the  rest;'  a  few  uncoated  imperturbablcs 
knock  billiard  balls  about ;  ten-pin  balls  rumble,  rou- 
lette balls  rattle,  and  the  cards,  the  quiet,  mocking 


The  Green  Cloth.  201 

cards,  are  everywhere.  At  first  you  loiter  iunocently, 
a  philosophic  and  observant  looker-(ju ;  tlicu  you  take 
your  inevitable  part  in  the  Nvicked  hurly-burly. 

At  last,  you  return  to  your  abhorred  den — now  good 
enough  for  you,  who  have  not  the  means  left  of  paying 
even  for  that — and  to  the  foul  bhinkets,  and  a  false 
sleep,  full  of  brain  tricks.  You  dream  that  you  are 
the  Midas  of  many  montc  and  faro  banks;  that  you 
have  choice  water-lots  at  Long  AVharf  an<l  fifty-vara 
building  sites  on  Montgomery  street ;  that  you  are  the 
oracle  of  a  superior  circle  of  bankers,  judges,  scholars, 
orators,  ay — and  divines ;  that  you  are  alcalde,  go- 
vernor, senator  in  Congress — an  honorable,  a  remark- 
able, a  smart  man.     And  your  dream  is  true. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ME.  KAEL  JOSEPH  KEAFFT 

OF   THE    OLD    CALIFORNIANS. 

In  tlie  year  One  of  the  Founding  of  the  Citj,  came 
to  San  Francisco  Mr.  Karl  Joseph  Krafft,  whose  ap- 
pearance in  these  pages  is  not,  say  certain  of  the 
spiritualistics,  the  first  of  his  apparitions  since  he  died. 

Mr.  Krafft  was  a  German  adventurer — an  accom- 
plished gentleman,  a  natural  artist,  poet,  soldier,  travel- 
ler, speculator.  It  was  said  he  had  been,  in  his  early 
youth,  an  attendant  on  the  person  of  Prince  Metter- 
nich,  in  the  capacity  of  page ;  that  later  in  his  life  he 
had  been  an  ofiicer  of  Austrian  Cavalry — a  probable 
story,  to  judge  from  his  military  carriage  and  habits, 
his  gallant  horsemanship,  his  habile  familiarity  with 
pistol  and  sword,  and  even  a  faint  trace  of  uniform  in 


Mr.   Karl  Joseph   Knifft.  203 

his  clotlics.  Somewhere  about  1839  he  came  to  Val- 
paraiso cpiitc  i)ciiiiilcss — nothing  extraordinary  in  a 
constitutional  adventurer,  especially  in  a  German  one, 
and  more  especially  such  a  German  adventurer  as  Mr. 
Krafft,  whose  life,  if  the  latter  part  of  it  might  repre- 
sent the  whole,  had  been  a  life  of  scrapes,  and  awk- 
ward shifts,  and  desperate  passes. 

Mr.  Krafft  was  abundantly  provided  with  letters  of 
introduction  from  the  most  distinguished  sources 
about  European  courts.  Indeed,  the  genuineness  of 
them  was  afterward  sweepingly  challenged  in  Valpa- 
raiso, no  doubt  by  envious  and  detracting  persons. 
Still,  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  Mr.  Krafft  had  a 
lively  fancy,  a  fine  inventive  faculty,  and  a  ready  ])en. 
Whatever  those  qualities  may  have  had  to  do  with 
his  letters  of  intn^duction,  it  is  known  that  he  quickly 
ingratiated  himself  in  the  favor  of  a  rich  Italian, 
the  first  of  the  foreign  merchants:  a  success  wholly 
due,  perhaps,  to  his  cleverness,  his  varied  and  useful 
accomplishments — especially  as  a  linguist,  in  which 
chai-aeter  he  was  polygh^t — and  his  adioit  addi\ss, 
whieli  was  in  a  remarkable  degree  courtly  after   the 


204  ^^^^  New. 

manner  of  the  old  world,  instructed,  searcliing,  wily, 
irresistibly  cliarming. 

In  a  short  time,  Mr,  Kraflft  became  a  principal  con- 
fidential clerk  in  the  mercantile  house  of  his  patron — 
a  position  which  afforded  his  natural  and  acquired 
diplomacy  the  rarest  advantages,  and  gave  him  op- 
jjortunities  for  sudden  strides  of  promotion  of  which 
he  was  by  no  means  slow  to  avail  himself.  Perhaps 
some  of  the  larger  operations  of  the  concern  had  not 
been  of  a  sort  to  bear  investigation ;  therefore  Mr. 
Krafft  investigated  them  diligently.  All  secrets  were 
fish  that  came  to  the  cunning  net  of  his  finesse.  No 
one  doubted  that  Mr.  Krafft  had  found  something  out 
— there  was  no  other  way  of  accounting  for  his  proud 
and  jealous  patron's  excessive  and  even  loud  partial- 
ity, his  undisguised  preference  of  the  interloping  and 
by  no  means  popular  adventurer,  as  a  suitor  for  the 
hand  of  his  daughter :  indeed — as  many  an  American 
naval  officer  knows,  who,  on  the  Pacific  station,  and 
at  Valparaiso,  has  been  admitted  to  the  delight  of  her 
society — the  most  beautiful,  the  most  accomplished, 
the   most  altogether  charming;  senorita  in   Chili  or 


Mr.    Karl   Joseph    Krutft.  205 

Peru.  AVlieu  the  lovely  Maria  was  married  to  Mr. 
KrafFt,  which  happened  before  long,  there  were  those 
who  said  they  would  not  mock  her  with  congratula- 
tions. I  think  their  consideration  never  met  with 
lively  appreciation  from  the  lady  ;  for  certainly,  if  her 
regard  for  her  husband  was  but  an  enforced  liking  at 
first,  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  it  became  a  pro- 
found, and  naturally  a  blind,  passion  in  the  end.  Mr. 
Krafft  was  a  winning  man;  he  had,  in  a  degree  as 
eminent  as  I  have  ever  known,  the  trick  of  procuring 
the  love — even  though  its  ingenuity  were  sadly  taxed 
to  invent  excuses  for  him — he  was  bent  on  having. 
The  eyes,  the  lij)s,  the  mind,  the  culture,  the  soul  of 
Maria  were  things  worth  the  winning,  and  Mr.  Karl 
Joseph  Krafft  was  master  of  the  ways  to  make 
them  his. 

Very  soon  the  son-in-law  became  a  partner  in  his 
patron's  business ;  immediately,  one  brilliant  specula- 
tion after  another,  all  successful ;  and  then  a  sublime 
failure — a  sort  of  Paradise  Lost  among  the  epics  of 
speculation — which  swallowed  them  all  up.  AVlicn 
Mr.  Krafft  sailed  for  San  Francisco  in  Forty -Nine,  the 


2o6  The  New. 

white-liaired  Italian  had  just  died,  a  broken-hearted, 
half-witted  bankrupt,  and  the  incomparable  Maria, 
■with  her  three  little  Krafffcs,  was  in  the  most  pic- 
turesque straits,  a  pretty  pensioner  on  the  bounty  of 
her  father's  old  friends. 

My  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Krafft  was  made  under 
somewhat  singular  circumstances,  when  he  was  cashier 
in  the  Castom-house.  A  very  San  Franciscan  inci- 
dent, on  that  occasion,  drew  out  some  of  his  peculiari- 
ties and  showed  him  to  great  advantage.  Having 
occasion  to  visit  a  medical  friend  of  mine,  on  Sacra- 
mento street,  I  was  conversing  with  him  in  his  office, 
when  two  forlorn  wretches,  one  far  gone  in  consump- 
tion, the  other  utterly  disabled  by  rheumatism,  were 
brought  to  the  door  by  comrades  not  much  better  off 
than  themselves.  They  had  an  order  from  the  Al- 
calde. My  friend  was  to  "  render  them  all  immedi- 
ately necessary  relief,  and  attend  them  professionally 
at  their  lodgings ;  he  would  also  provide  them  with 
the  proper  medicines,  nursing,  and  nourishment, 
and  charge  the  City  for  the  same,  according  to  the 
regulations  provided  in  such  cases." 


Mr.  Karl  Joseph  Kraflt.  207 

"Nowhere,"  said  my  friend,  "is  the  beauty  of  be- 
ing a  doctor  in  good  standing  in  this  golden  anomaly 
of  a  city,  called  San  Francisco.  These  men,  being 
sick,  destitute,  friendless,  and  completely  wretched, 
apply  to  the  Alcalde  for  relief  There  is  no  public 
hospital,  no  hospital  fund,  no  city-physician.  The 
Alcalde  cannot  quarter  them  on  the  Town  Council, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  the  Town  Council  is  here 
to-day  and  gone  to-morrow,  their  tenure  of  office  being 
regulated  for  the  most  part  by  the  vicissitudes  of 
business  in  their  respective  vocations — lightering, 
mule-driving,  peddling,  or  bar-keeping,  as  the  case 
may  be.  He  cannot  convert  the  Town  Hall  into  a 
hospital ;  for  what  was  a  rum-shop  yesterday  will,  as 
likely  as  not,  be  a  church  to-morrow.  lie  can  hardly 
share  his  own  couch  with  them;  since,  even  if  its 
dimensions  were  more  liberal  than  they  are,  soft  planks 
are  but  poorl}^  adapted  to  the  joints  of  this  man  or  the 
lungs  of  that.  So  he  sends  them  to  me,  to  be  bedded 
and  boarded,  as  tliough  I  were  Abraham's  bosom, 
and  had  a  natural  aHinity  for  old  sores  and  purulent 
expectoration.     1  am  to  i)rovidc  them  with  the  noees- 


2o8  The  New. 

sarj  medicines,  nursing,  and  nourishment ;  that  means 
that  I  am  to  clothe,  nurse,  and  cook  for  them,  till  thej 
die  or  get  well,  at  my  proper  expense,  for  the  plea- 
sure and  fame  of  my  own  beneficence.  And  I  am  to 
attend  them  professionally  at  their  lodgings;  that 
means  that  I  am  to  perform  perilous  navigation 
through  the  municipal  quagmires  two  or  three  times 
daily  or  nightly,  as  may  be  required,  to  a  hide  tent 
in  Happy  Yalley — so  called  because  it  is  the  most 
unhappy  locality  on  God's  earth — or  the  loft  of  a 
Sydney  convict's  hell  at  Clarke's  Point.  And  I  am  to 
charge  them  to  the  City ;  that  means  that  I  am  to  pre- 
sent my  humble  bill  a  great  many  times  to  the  Town 
Council,  whose  'petitioner  will  ever  pray,'  etc. ;  by  the 
time  I  have  become  quite  desperate  and  have  exhausted 
my  resources  of  interest,  bribes,  and  blasphemy,  they 
will  refer  it  to  a  long  succession  of  special  committees, 
to  be  audited — each  committee  cordially  voting  me  a 
bore,  wishing  me,  and  my  accounts,  and  my  benevo- 
lence, and  my  grievances,  all  at  the  devil  together  ;  at 
last  some  verdant  committee  man,  who  has  not  been 
long  in  the  business,  will  get  my  bill  passed,  by  divid- 


Mr.   Karl  Joseph   Knifft.  209 

ing  the  total  by  two  ;  and  linall\',  the  Comptroller  will 
{)Ut  the  crowning  glory  on  the  whole,  by  ordering  me 
to  be  paid  in  city  script,  at  lil'ty  cents  ou  the  dollar. 
Some  thousands  of  dollars  in  the  vocative,  I  shall  con- 
sole myself  with  my  lirst-rate  grievance,  and  count 
on  eloquent  sympathy,  and  public  meetings,  and  the 
thanks  of  public-spirited  people,  while  my  patients, 
rheumatic,  phthisical,  and  the  rest,  will  vote  me  a 
rapacious  villain,  and  seriously  discuss  the  expediency 
of  lynching  me.  That,  briefly  summed  up,  is  just 
what  this  paper  means." 

"  But  the  regulations,"  I  asked — "  '  according  tu 
the  regulations  in  such  cases  provided ' — what  does 
that  mean  ?" 

"  That  means  the  Alcalde's  authority,  vested  in  him 
by  the  Town  Council  at  my  expense,  to  send  my  for- 
lorn friends  here  to  sleep  in  my  bed  and  share  my 
pot-luck.  So,  if  3'ou  have  indulged  in  any  friendly 
hopes  that,  because  my  practice  is  worth  from  eighty 
to  a  hundred  dollars  a  day,  I  shall  go  home  with  a 
splendid  pile  in  a  few  steamers,  please  remember  this 
paper,  consider  the  price  of  blankets  and  board — to 


21  o  The  New. 

saj  notliing  of  my  own  boot-leather — and  moderate 
your  transports." 

"  Why  not  make  a  statement  of  the  matter,  in  the 
light  in  which  you  are  now  presenting  it  to  me,  to 
the  Town  Council,  in  person?" 

"  So  I  did.  '  Gentlemen,'  said  I,  '  do  you  take  me 
for  Sam  Brannan,  or  Burgoyne's  Bank,  or  Mr.  Stein- 
berger,  or  the  Mariposa  diggins  ?  Is  your  servant  a 
whole  row  of  front  water-lots  on  Clarke's  Point,  that 
he  should  do  this  munificent  duty  ?' — And  they  called 
me  to  order." 

"With  this  sally,  my  droll  friend  turned  to  his 
patients,  whom — having  ascertained  the  exact  nature 
and  gravity  of  their  ailments,  and  provided  them  with 
medicines — he  presently  dismissed  with  a  few  cheering 
words,  some  money,  and  an  order  for  food  and  lodg- 
ings. Then,  rejoining  me,  he  resumed  the  rather 
comical  story  of  his  troubles. 

In  the  midst  of  it,  a  gentleman  entered,  whose 
peculiar  appearance  I  noted  with  interest  then,  and 
have  ever  vividly  remembered  since:  a  man  of 
medium    stature,    slender,   but  very   graceful"  with 


Mr.  Karl  Joseph  Kraffh.  211 

almost  elTeminate  feet  and  hands — the  former  neatly 
shod,  the  latter  scrupulously  kept,  and  with  a  certain 
appearance  of  fragility ;  very  soft  blue  eyes,  sleepily 
curtained  with  drooping  lids;  a  classically  correct 
nose;  short  upper  lip;  a  light  moustache  of  some- 
what military  cut,  precisely  trimmed;  rosy,  moist, 
sensuous  lips;  a  most  fine  lower  jaw  and  chin;  hair 
light,  thin,  straight,  and  soft  as  a  child's.  His  clothes, 
which  he  wore  with  an  officer-like  air,  consisted  of  a 
claret-colored  coat,  neither  dress  nor  frock,  but  mixed 
of  both  fashions,  with  a  velvet  collar  and  brass 
buttons ;  a  black  velvet  vest,  double-breasted ;  iron- 
gray  pantaloons ;  fresh,  well-starched,  and  very  fine 
linen ;  plain  black  cravat,  tied  with  a  kind  of  pictu- 
resque negligence;  a  cambric  handkerchief  of  fasti- 
dious texture,  and  dark  brown  kid  gloves.  He  wore 
gold  spectacles,  and  carried  a  Malacca  cane,  with  an 
elaborately  carved  gold  head,  having  his  name  and  a 
date  on  the  top,  which  suggested  some  memorable 
occasion,  perhaps  a  compliment,  and  a  presentation. 
His  complexion  was  unnaturally  flushed,  or  rather 
stained,  as  though  by  a  refined  intemperance.     lie 


212  The  New. 

bad  a  singular  trick  of  caressing  his  hps,  even  prettily, 
with  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  between  his  talk ;  and  when 
be  spoke  his  chin  trembled,  like  that  of  a  man  whose 
nerves  are  unstrung,  who  is  more  or  less  spasmodically 
inclined.  And  yet  there  was  a  most  rare  deliberation, 
gentleness,  and  a  graceful  composure  in  his  manner, 
as  of  one  who,  to  use  his  own  favorite  and  frequent 
expression,  never  "  fashed  himself."  His  attitudes 
were  simply  chosen  and  full  of  sense — liis  gestures 
few,  quiet,  and  a  little  quaint — the  whole  man  bred  to 
the  most  polished  courtliness,  and  expert  in  the  ma- 
nagement of  his  polite  machinery.  And  yet,  there 
was  a  degree  of  devil-may-careness  about  him,  evi- 
dently not  recently  acquired,  which  made  you  curious 
to  know  him  better;  for  in  that,  plainly,  you  were  to 
look  for  the  nature  of  the  man — the  rest  came  of  his 
education  and  closest  associations.  In  his  figure  was 
a  decided  stoop,  which  to  your  least  examination 
betrayed  the  elegant  debauchee.  This  stoop,  you 
perceived,  could  not  be  of  long  standing,  for  he  was 
unmistakably  conscious  of  it.  Nor  was  it  even  a 
defect — he  carried  it  with  such  a  pleasant  air,  as  one 


Mr.  Karl  Joseph  Kraift. 


213 


who  thought  "scapegrace"  of  himself.     And  yet  it 
imparted  to  liiiii  the  appearance  of  more  years  than 


hu  had — lor  thougli 
i  but  thirty -seven,  as  I 
learned,  he  passed  for 
ten  3-ears  older — and, 
with  the  complicity  of 
the  gold  spectacles,  be- 
trayed him  into  being 

called,  behind  his  back  only,  by  a  few  graceless  and 

irreverent  youths,  "  Old  Kraflft." 


214  '^^^  New. 

His  talk  was  fluent,  liis  words  well  chosen,  the 
brokenness  of  his  English  rather  in  the  deliberation  of 
his  utterance,  the  slow  procession  of  his  words — which 
had  a  perceptible  interval  between  them,  as  though 
they  were  measured  off  with  dashes — than  in  any 
vice  of  grammar  or  pronunciation.  "When  he  speaks, 
my  reader  will  try  to  remember  this.  His  utterance 
was  just  that  which,  to  me,  has  always  seemed  best 
adapted  to  convey  the  ideas  of  Kurz  Pacha  in  the 
Potiphar  Papers.  "  '  This  is  the  way  to  take  life,  my 
dear.  Let  us  go  gent-ly.  Here  we  go  back-wards 
and  for- wards.  You  tick-le,  and  I'll  tick-le,  and  we'll 
all  tick-le — and  here  we  go  round,  round,  round-y !' 
We  will  not  fash  ourselves"— comically  beating  time 
with  both  his  white  hands. 

Mr.  Kraflft  had  come  to  take  the  Doctor  to  a  poor 
devil  he  had  in  his  bed  at  home,  who — for  all  that  his 
lungs  were  ruined,  and  he  hadn't  any  friends  or  any 
money — had  a  notion  that  he'd  like  to  live  a  httlc 
longer. 

"  We'll  go  presently,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  But  sit 
you  down  now,  Krafft,  and  hear  what  I  was  just  say- 


Mr.  Karl  Joseph  Krafft.  219 

iiig  to  my  iViond  here  ;  for  you'll  be  sure  to  get  into 
the  Town  Council,  if  it  ever  happens  to  be  worth  your 
while ;  and  then  you'll  be  put  on  one  of  my  special 
committees,  and  rather  than  fash  yourself  with  invent- 
ing excuses  to  put  me  off,  you'll  have  me  paid,  and 
do  something  for  my  rheumatics  and  consumptives 
besides." 

And  then,  resuming  his  story,  with  even  more  of 
melancholy  drollery  than  before,  he  soon  made  the 
affable  German  sympathetically  sensible  of  the  WTongs 
that  were  put  upon  him. 

"  Where,"  inquired  Mr.  Krafft,  "  are  these  new 
patients  you  speak  of — the  person  with  the  lungs, 
and  the  other  person  with  the  joints,  I  mean— now  i" 

"  Oh,  close  by — at  Ay-cow's,  the  Chinaman's  chop- 
house." 

"  Let  us  go  get  them.  "We  will  lay  them  before 
the  Alcalde  immediatcl}'.  I  think  he  will  audit  and 
pass  them  very  quickly,  without  waiting  for  the  meet- 
ing of  the  Council  or  your  special  committee." 

And  ^fr.  Krafft  arose,  and  passed  out,  as  though  all 
he  meant  was  very  apparent,  and  very  easy  to  do, 


2i6  The  New. 

and  nobody  need  fasli  himself  with  the  why  or  how 
of  it. 

"  Come  along,"  said  the  Doctor  to  me ;  "  I've  no 
idea  what  he's  np  to  ;  but  he'll  do  something  out  of 
the  common,  and  it  will  be  pretty  sure  to  be  the  best 
thing  to  do  under  the  circumstances.  It  is  not  fair  to 
'  fash'  him  beforehand." 

In  a  short  time  we  had  dragged  our  astonished  in- 
valids from  their  rude  bunks,  or  rather  pens,  over 
Ay-cow's  feeding-place,  and,  one  on  each  arm  of  our 
German  friend,  were  conducting  them  in  solemn  pro- 
cession to  the  Alcalde's  office.  It  was  mid-day,  and 
his  Honor  was  in  all  the  pride,  pomp,  and  circum- 
stance of  full  court — a  time  most  opportune  for  the 
purposes  of  Mr.  Karl  Joseph  Krafft.  Pushing,  with 
his  bewildered  proteges,  straight  to  the  green  table  in 
front  of  the  judge's  bench,  he  abruptly  interrupted 
the  business  of  the  court  with  a  characteristic  address :  i^ 

"  Your  Honor,  and  Gentlemen : — We  are  very  sick, 
and  hungry,  and  helpless,  and  wretched.  If  some- 
body does  not  do  something  for  us,  we  shall  die ;  and 
that  will  be  hard,  considering  how  far  we  have  come, 


Mr.   Karl  Joseph  Krafft.  217 

and  lidw  liard  it  was  to  get  licre,  and  how  sliort  a  time 
we  have  been  here,  and  that  wc  liave  not  had  a  fair 
cliance.  All  wc  ask  is  a  fair  chance;  and  wc  say 
again,  upon  our  honor,  Gentlemen,  if  somebody  does 
not  do  something  for  us,  we  shall  die,  by  God !  AVe 
have  told  the  Town  Council  so,  and  offered  to  prove 
it ;  but  they  were  busy  running  streets  through  their 
own  lots,  and  laying  out  grave-yards  in  everybody's 
else's,  and  sq,  you  see,  they  wouldn't  fash  themselves 
with  our  case.  Our  friend,  the  doctor  here,  will  tell 
you  all  about  us.  He  hopes  you  will  take  us  up,  and 
pass  us  at  once ;  and  he  thinks,  as  we  do,  that  if 
something  isn't  done  for  us,  very  soon,  we  shall  be 
setting  fire  to  the  town  first,  and  then  cutting  all  our 
own  throats." 

"  This  is  an  extraordinary  piece  of  business.  Doctor; 
what  does  it  all  mean?"  inquired  his  Honor. 

So  the  Doctor  told  over  again  his  story,  as  he  liad 
told  it  to  us  a  little  while  before — only  this  time  he 
delivered  it  with  more  gravity,  indeed  with  a  telling 
touch  of  pathos,  and  a  dash  of  indignant  expostula- 
tion.   And  at  the  close,  ^fr.  Krafft,  catching  and  turn- 


2i8  The  New. 

ing  to  quick  account,  the  popular  mood,  as  tlie  rapidly 
increasing  and  curious  crowd,  moved  hj  tlie  Doctor's 
tale,  closed  around  his  proteges,  pitying,  scolding,  and 
advising,  all  at  once — Mr.  Krafft,  taking  off  his  cap 
and  throwing  three  ounces  into  it,  said : 

"  Gentlemen,  we  head  the  subscription  for  our  own 
relief  with  fifty  dollars ;  and  as  there  are  a  great  many 
of  us  we  need  a  great  many  ounces.  But  we  tell  you 
again,  if  something  is  not  done  for  ns,  we  shall  die  in 
the  streets,  and  then  we  shall  all  smell  very  bad,  and 
everybody  will  become  affected  with  typhus  fever, 
and  we  shall  set  fire  to  the  city  and  cut  our  throats," 

So  saying,  he  held  out  his  cap  with  a  bow,  and  a 
winning  smile,  to  the  crowd.  In  a  very  few  minutes, 
it  was  almost  full  of  ounces.  Pouring  them  out  on 
the  table,  in  a  careless,  generous  heap,  he  said : 

"There,  Mr.  Alcalde — we  lend  you  those.  In  a 
few  days  we  shall  come  to  ask  what  use  you  have 
made  of  them.  And  you  can  say  to  the  Council  for 
us,  that  if  they  have  no  time  for  such  cases  as  ours, 
they  need  not  fash  themselves  about  water-lots  or 
street  improvements." 


Mr.  Karl  Joseph  Krafft.  219 

Then  lie  led  out  his  invalids  in  triumjoh — "approved 
and  ordered  to  be  paid,"  as  he  said ;  and  as  he  con- 
ducted them  across  the  Plaza  toward  Sacramento 
street,  he  was  followed  by  three  hearty  cheers. 

The  appropriation  of  a  hospital  fund,  and  the  first 
steps  towards  the  founding  of  a  City  Hospital,  followed 
closely  upon  Mr.  Kraft's  coup  de  main. 

Going,  one  day,  aboard  an  American  barque,  just 
in  after  a  long  and  ugly  voyage,  Mr.  Krafft  found  an 
insane  passenger,  who  had  not  tasted  food  for  several 
days,  nor  spoken  for  several  weeks.  Our  queer  friend 
became  at  once  warmly  interested  in  the  case:  an 
interest,  indeed,  which  he  evinced  for  every  man 
whose  equanimity  was  violently  disturbed,  or  who 
had  fashed  himself  to  such  excess  as  to  go  crazy — 
seeming  to  regard  him,  from  a  purely  scientific  stand- 
point, as  a  phenomenon  not  to  be  slighted  by  the 
philosophic  mind.  Mr.  Krafft  asked  many  questions 
about  the  crazy  passenger,  and  the  spirit  of  his 
investigations  conciliating  all  the  rest,  he  was  over- 
whelmed with  officious  information.  From  some 
bushels  of  foolish  gabble  he  sifted  a  grain  or  two  of 


220  The  New. 

useful  fact — sucli  as  that  the  man,  an  Irishman,  had 
been  a  laborer,  very  industrious  and  trustworthy — 
a  sort  of  head  man  or  overseer  of  shovel-and-pick 
gangs  on  railroads  and  canals;  that  he  had  been 
ambitious,  and  had  set  his  heart  on  rising  to  the  post 
of  contractor — and  so  on. 

Mr.  Krafft  at  once  conceived  the  idea  of  curing  this 
man.  Requesting  to  be  left  alone  with  him  for  a 
while,  he  took  a  seat  beside  him,  and  talked — quietly, 
kindly,  very  naturally — of  his  old  pursuits,  asking  no 
questions,  not  seeming  to  be  aware  of  his  companion's 
witlessness,  indeed  compelling  himself  to  quite  forget 
that.  At  first  his  efforts  were  rewarded  only  with  the 
same  vacant  stare  which  had  repaid  the  more  bene- 
volent of  the  poor  fellow's  comrades,  who  had  already 
endeavored  to  inspire  him  with  an  idea  or  a  remem- 
brance. But  presently,  when  Mr.  Krafft  began  to 
talk  of  splendid  contracts,  of  millions  of  dollars'  worth 
of  work — of  whole  streets  to  be  graded,  and  founda- 
tions to  be  dug,  and  an  army  of  barrows,  and  shovels, 
and  picks,  the  command  of  which  he  requested  his 
crazy  friend  to  accept — the  man's  eye  brightened,  and, 


Mr.  Karl  Joseph  Kraflt.  221 

laying  liis  liaiul  in  ^^^.  KraOl's,  he  said  in  a  l<nv  Ijiit 
decided  tone,  "I'll  do  it." 

Then  Mr.  Kralft,  assuming  the  responsibility  for 
his  safety — wliicli,  by  the  same  token,  they  of  the 
ship  were  willing  to  resign,  .seeing  that  on  the  voyage 
out,  the  man,  taking  mnbrage  at  something,  liad  held 
the  mate  over  the  rail  by  the  waistband,  while  the 
ship  was  going  twelve  knots  an  hour — bade  him 
eomc  with  him;  and  philosopher  and  madman  went 
ashore  together  in  a  small  boat. 

The  white  Sehool-house,  near  the  Old  Adobe,  was 
the  headquarters  of  the  poliee  then.  It  was  on  the 
w^est  side  of  the  Plaza,  overlooking  the  heart  of  the 
young  city  and  its  busiest  life.  Thither  Mr.  Kralft 
conducted  his  crazy  Iriend,  and  showing  him  the 
ground  in  front  of  the  little  building — indeed,  in  the 
very  midst  of  what  is  now  Portsmouth  Square — told 
him  his  operations  were  to  begin  there.  Then  calling 
up  a  few'  policemen,  whom  with  a  word  or  two  he 
inducted  into  the  secret,  he  \mi  them  under  the  onlei's 
of  his  madman,  and  bade  them  bring  shovels  and 
picks — at  the  same  time  suggesting  to  the  devil-pos- 


222  The  New. 

sessed  digger  tliat  it  would  be  as  well  to  break  ground 
at  once,  as  the  rest  of  his  working  force,  some  thou- 
sands of  able-bodied  fellows,  would  be  on  hand 
presently. 

Not  a  word  spake  the  madman — not  a  word  had 
he  uttered,  since  he  said  "I'll  do  it" — ^but  flinging 
down  his  coat  and  hat,  silently,  with  eyes  wild,  and 
teeth  set,  he  went  to  work.  Beautiful !  how  evenly, 
how  steadily,  how  swiftly  yet  how  fusslessly,  he 
cleared  the  ground  before  him,  tossing  the  fljang 
shovelfuls  with  the  flirt  of  a  nimble  gravemaker ! 

"  Beautiful !"  cried  Mr.  Karl  Joseph  Krafft,  exulting 
in  the  success  of  his  experiment,  "  beautiful !  we  are 
a  trifle  crack-brained,  to  be  sure ;  but  for  digging  we 
are  worth  a  dozen  philosophers  yet — worth  a  hun- 
dred of  some  sorts  of  fellows  who  never  had  their 
little  gusts  of  madness,  never  knew  the  luxury  of 
returning  reason.  When  this  is  through  with,  we 
shall  be  hungry,  and  then  we  shall  eat ;  after  that  we 
shall  feel  congenial,  and  then  we  shall  talk — shall  talk 
ourselves  to  sleep,  shall  dream,  and  have  memories 
soothing  and  saving — shall  awake,  the  sanest  fellows 


Mr.  Karl  Joseph  KrafFt.  223 

in  town,  and  never  fash  ourselves  again  about  the 
devils  that  are  cast  out." 

Steadily  "the  subject"  worked  on,  and  the  field  of 
his  successes  grew  apace.  But  the  Sun  had  laid  his 
heavy  hand  upon  the  bare  head  of  the  man,  and  was 
down-bearing,  more  and  more  heavily,  every  moment, 
upon  his  brain  ;  and  a  fiend  flew  along  his  veins  and 
heated  ihem,  and  twitched  at  his  nerves  till  they  qui- 
vered ;  and  his  fancy  became  filled  with  hostile  shapes, 
as  all  the  ground  around  was  filled  with  curious  spec- 
tators; so  that  at  last,  brandishing  his  spade,  he  flung 
himself  upon  the  host  before  him,  and  the  first  man 
he  laid  low  was  his  friend,  philosopher,  and  guide. 

They  bound  hira  down  and  gave  him  shower-baths, 
and  expostulated  with  him  ;  but  he  never  spoke  nor 
ate  again  till  he  died.  And  :Mr.  "Karl  Joseph  Kraff't 
said,  picking  up  his  cane,  that  no  confidence  was  to 
be  reposed  in  persons  of  that  description ;  all  impetu- 
ous people  were  fools,  he  said. 

^fr.  Krafift  was  one  of  the  few  men  who  had  a  home 
in  San  Francisco  in  Forty  Nine;  at  least,  he  had  a 
comfortable  abode,  a  fireside,  and  a  knot  of  friends  to 


224  The  New. 

gather  round  it,  witli  pipes  and  punch — ^to  tell  stories 
and  play  whist,  in  the  good  old  way.  He  had  taken 
a  better  sort  of  adobe  house,  on  the  corner  of  Dupont 
and  Pacific  streets,  and  put  it  in  good  repair  with 
paint  and  plaster.  Like  all  the  adobe  buildings  of 
old  Yerba  Buena,  it  had  but  one  story.  The  entrance, 
set  fairly  in  the  middle  of  the  front,  was  on  Pacific 
street ;  a  narrow  hall,  from  front  to  back  door,  divided 
the  house,  so  as  to  give  one  large  sitting-room  on 
the  right,  and  a  smaller  apartment,  which  was  for  a 
bed-chamber,  on  the  left,  in  front,  with  a  kitchen  be- 
hind it.  The  sitting-room,  hospitably  furnished,  was 
Mr.  Krafft's  "  spare  room,"  and  from  the  first  he  had 
warmly  entertained  in  it  one  after  another  of  self- 
appointed  friends,  or  new  but  preferred  acquaintances; 
so  that,  indeed,  it  was  never  without  an  occupant. 
His  own  apartment  deserved  to  be  styled  luxurious, 
for  San  Francisco  then.  It  had  a  marble  floor,  alter- 
nately tiled  in  black  and  white.  The  cornices  showed 
a  rude  attempt  at  carving.  The  fire-place  was  a  very 
throne  of  comfort.  There  was  an  English  brass  bed- 
stead, which  Mr.  Krafft,  being  justly  proud  of  it,  kept 


Mr.   Karl  Joseph   Krafft.  225 

in  a  superfine  state  of  brightness  A  blue  silk  cover- 
let— the  handiwork  of  his  absent  wife,  no  doubt — 
adorned  the  bed  ;  and  over  that  again,  were  laid  two 
curious  spotted  skins,  which  came,  he  said,  from  Pata- 
gonia. There  w\as  an  oaken  chest  of  drawers,  and  a 
flawless  old  looking-glass ;  large  camphor-wood  chests, 
of  genuine  Canton  manufacture,  brass-bound  and 
painted  blue,  were  disposed  about  the  room.  On  the 
walls  hung  portraits  in  oil  of  himself  and  his  Maria — ~ 
most  lovely  ! — and  an  unfinished  sketch  in  water  co- 
lors, of  his  three  children,  in  graceful  group.  A 
Wesson  rifle  stood  in  the  corner  next  the  door;  a 
Mexican  saddle  and  head-stall,  with  serape,  lariat,  and 
spurs,  hung  on  large  wooden  pegs  near  the  foot  of  the 
bed.  A  cavalry  sabre  was  between  the  windows,  and 
a  pair  of  German  duelling-pistols,  hung,  crossed, 
against  the  wall,  within  the  curtains,  at  the  back  part 
of  the  bed.  Near  the  head  of  the  bed,  and  always 
within  reach  of  the  arm  of  its  occupant,  stood  an 
empty  barrel,  over  the  top  of  which  a  sort  of  shawl 
was  thrown.  ITore  lay  at  all  times  a  loaded  pistol, 
also  of  German  make,  having  a  curiously  mounted 


226  The  New. 

and  inlaid  stock ;  and  here,  every  night,  on  retiring 
to  bed,  Mr.  Krafft  placed  his  watch,  a  valuable  dia- 
mond ring  and  pin,  some  rare  and  curiously  shaped 
specimens  of  gold,  and  whatever  papers  of  value  he 
may  have  had  about  his  person  that  day. 

When  I  knew  Mr.  Krafft,  he  was  quite  happy  in 
this  home  of  his.  On  returning  from  his  afternoon 
ride  to  the  Mission  or  the  Presidio,  which  he  regu- 
larly took  when  the  day's  business  was  over,  he  was 
wont  to  amuse  himself  with  pistol  practice  at  his 
back  door;  or  he  would  take  up  the  foils  with  some 
friend  whose  training  had  been  German  and  military. 
Feats  of  strength  and  skill  had  always  a  peculiar 
charm  for  Mr.  Krafft.  I  have  heard  him  boast  that 
he  could  stop  a  run-away  horse  with  the  pressure  of 
his  knees,  and  I  have  seen  him  disarm  an  antagonist 
of  acknowledged  expertness,  with  a  nice  movement 
of  the  wrist,  most  difficult  to  acquire. 

One  night,  as  he  was  returning  late  from  the  Plaza, 
where  he  had  been  recreating  himself  with  monte,  a 
party  of  Hounds,  having  attacked  some  Chilian  tents 
on  Dupont  street,  were  driving  out  the  inmates,  and 


Mr.  Karl  Joseph  Kraftt  227 

setting  fire  to  their  canvas  shelter.     Some  five  or  six 

of  thcra  had  a  hapless  Chilcna  girl  among  them,  and 

hustling  her  brutally  about,  were  quarrelling  noisily 

for  possession  of  her  much  coveted  person.     Mr. 

Krafft,    with   his  gold-headed  cane,    felled  four   of 

thcni,   to  their  extreme  astonishment;    and  though, 

when  the  rest  recovered  from  the  shock,  they  fired 

their  revolvers  at  him  in  the  dark,  he  got  off  safely 

with  the  girl  and  led  her  tenderly  to  his  own  home. 

There  he  sootlied  her  terror  and  consoled  her  grief, 

in  his  characteristic  way,  before  returning  to  seek  for 

her  friends:   "We  must  not  cry,"  said  he — "we  must 

not  distract  our  little  bniins.     So  our  bones  or  our 

hearts  are  not  broken,  we  will  not   fash   ourselves 

about  the  money,  and  the  clotiies,  and  the  rest  of  the 

folks— 

'lo  son  ricco, 
Tu  sei  bella.' " 

And  afterward,  when  the  affiiir  got  to  be  talked  of  to 
his  honor,  the  skill  and  dispatch  with  which  the  res- 
cue had  been  cfTected  were  all  tliat  Mr.  Krafft  asked 

to  be  a])pLuuk'(l  for. 


228  The  New. 

For  a  time  I  liad  much  pleasure  in  the  society  of 
mj  eccentric  friend.  The  striking  quaintness  of  his 
character  enhanced  the  charm  of  his  conversation, 
which  was  full  of  unusual  experiences,  versatility  of 
accomplishment,  originality  of  opinion,  delicacy  of 
taste,  refinement  of  sensibility,  and  a  good-natured, 
even  comical  j)hilosophy,  which  had  in  it  a  kind  of 
universal  quien  sahe  for  all  subjects  and  people.  ISTot 
to  fosh  ourselves,  was  the  advice  which  Mr.  Krafft 
was  for  ever  benevolently  bestowing  upon  us,  because 
he  sincerely  believed  he  had  himself  derived  great 
advantage  from  steadily  following  it.  So  long  as 
matters  went  towardly  with  him,  his  companionship 
was  a  privilege  that  I  enjoyed  with  even  a  degree  of 
jealousy;  and  on  Sunday  afternoons,  as  we  walked 
to  the  old  Switzer's  house  at  "Washerwoman's  Bay,  or 
the  extemporaneous  grave-yaj'd  at  the  foot  of  Tele- 
graph Hill,  and  he  amused,  flattered,  delighted,  in- 
structed, impressed,  sadly  moved  me,  in  quick  succes- 
sion or  all  at  once,  I  simply  wondered  how  such  a 
man  came  to  be  speculating  in  Pacific  street  lots,  and 
cudgelling  Hounds  by  way  of  a  sandwich. 


Mr.   Karl  Joseph    Krafft.  229 

But  a  sudden,  dreadlVil,  and  comjiletc  cliango  canio, 
no  one  knew  whence,  over  the  for-a-timo  quiet,  if  not 
eminently  beneficent,  life  of  Mr.  Karl  Joseph  Krafl't. 
lie  seemed  to  have  suffered  a  shame  or  a  hurt  from 
an  unknown  liand,  and  to  l)e  feeling  blindly,  desper- 
atel}',  about  for  revenge — and  as  a  rage-drunk  man 
will,  hurting  himself  more  and  more  at  every  turn. 

lie  plunged  stupidly  into  speculations,  with  little 
heed  to  the  depth  or  current  of  them.  With  cards 
and  dice,  roulette  wheels  and  rondo  balls,  he  fooled 
himself  to  the  top  of  his  bent.  lie  untuned  the 
strings  of  his  heart,  so  that  the  most  skilful  touches 
of  his  kindest  friends  could  produce  nothing  but  dis- 
cord- He  wounded  all  who  loved  him,  and  when 
they  turned  away  their  faces,  in  sorrow  for  his  shame- 
ful pass,  sang,  maudlin,  his  favorite  song,  the  beauti- 
ful duet  in  Lucia,  the  invariable  music  of  his  cups — 

"  Verranno  la  suU'  aure, 
I  miei  sospiii  ardenti." 

He  entertained  traitors,  and  the  cunning  foes  of  his 
prosperity,  to  the  very  bottom  of  his  purse  ;  they  laid 


230  The  New. 

him  "  down  among  the  dead  men"  nightly.  Indeed, 
he  bleared  his  eyes  and  bemuddled  his  brains  with 
everlasting  drams,  till  the  devil  of  Delirium  Tremens 
got  among  his  poor  wits. 

One  night,  during  the  progress  of  one  of  his  most 
desperate  debauches,  fearing  some  harm  might  befall 
liim,  from  liimself  or  others — for  besides  his  rascally 
boon-companions,  there  were  deceived  creditors,  who 
were  dangerously  incensed  against  him — I  slept  on 
the  floor  at  the  foot  of  his  bed.  Awakened,  after 
midnight,  by  his  piteous  moaning,  I  arose,  and  was 
feeling  about  in  the  dark  for  a  match,  when  he  sud- 
denly became  quiet;  but  presently  the  profound  still- 
ness and  darkness  were  disturbed  by  the  crack  of  a 
cap ;  and  a  slight  flash.  He  had  stealthily  got  down 
one  of  his  loaded  pistols,  and  had  tried  to  fire  at  me ; 
fortunately,  only  the  cap  snapped — the  weapon  was 
foul  and  hung  fire.  "My  dear  sir,"  said  I,  very 
quietly,  knowing  my  man — "don't  shoot  me;  that 
would  be  supremely  stupid." 

"  Ah  !  my  dear,  good  friend — is  it  you  ?     I  con- 
gratulate  you.     Diable!   do   you  know,  I  had   yon 


Mr.  Karl  Joseph  Krafft. 


231 


covcrctl,  dciul.  That  ouly  shows  thiit  one  shouM  not 
fash  himself  nervously  about  thieves,  where  no 
thieves  are.     But  I  must  clean  my  pistols." 


About  this  time  his  door  was 
besieged  from  morning  till  night 
by  fierce  duns.  He  kept  the  bolts 
fast,  and  while  they  cursed  with- 
out, lay  in  bed,  smoking  cigars,  tossing  off  goblets  of 
champagne,  laughing,  coughing,  raving,  singing — 


232  The  New. 


"  '  lo  son  ricco, 
Tu  sei  bella,' 
Tra,  la,  la,  la,  h'm-dle,  d'm. 

"  What  impatient  people ! 

" '  Quale  amore, 
Un  Senatore 
Me  d'amore 

Supplicar ! 
Ma  Zanetto 
E  un  giovinetto 

Che  mi  place,  vo  sposar.'  " 

One  evening,  about  dusk,  when  the  rest  had  de- 
parted, tired  with  their  fruitless  coaxing  and  cursing, 
a  young  man  in  whose  generous  confidence  Mr. 
Krafft  had  formerly  held  the  highest  place,  who  had 
endorsed  for  him  recklessly,  whom  indeed  Krafft 
loved,  but  whom  he  had  ruined — if  a  man  could  be 
ruined  in  California  in  Forty -Nine — came,  and  in  set 
phrases  of  insult,  most  deliberately,  skilfully  cruel, 
accused,  condemned,  punished  him.  They  had  been 
old  and  very  intimate  friends,  which  gave  the  credi- 


Mr.   Karl  Joseph   Krattl.  233 

tor  an  almost  drcadiul  advantage;  he  know  tlie 
"  raws"  of  his  man,  and  be  tore  tliem,  till  Mr.  K;irl 
Joseph  KrafTt  could  have  shrieked.  But  he  gallantly 
preserved  his  habitual  composure,  and  only  said — 

"  If  you  will  not  stop  saying  such  dangerous 
things,  I  have  pistols  at  hand,  and  wo  must  go  behind 
the  house  together." 

"No,  sir!"  the  other  answered;  "I  won't  fight  you; 
you  must  learn  to  be  honest  before  you  can  afford  to 
be  brave.  There  is  but  one  just  debt,  Mr.  Krafft,  tliat 
you  will  ever  pay,  and  that's  the  debt  of  nature. 
Make  society  and  your  disgusted  friends  the  only 
reparation  in  your  power,  by  blowing  your  brains 
out  with  those  very  pistols  you  flourish  so  saucily." 

"  Well,  I'll  think  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Krafft. 

The  young  man  was  going.  But  suddenly,  by  a 
most  strange  impulse,  he  turned,  and  walking  straight 
to  Mr.  Krafft,  said,  "  Forgive  me,  sir." 

"  We  will  forgive  each  other,"  said  Mr.  Krafft — 
"  Good  night!  I  will  pay  you  in  the  morning." 

Next  morning,  at  nine  o'clock,  Mr.  Karl  Joseph 
Ki-afftblew  out  his  brains — litei'ally,  all  of  his  brains. 


234  The  New. 

But  a  little  while  after  his  angrj  young  creditor 
had  taken  his  singular  leave,  Mr.  Krafft  sent  for  the 
pastor  of  the  First  Presbyterian  Church,  which  was 
then  but  a  tent  on  a  neighboring  lot.  On  the  arrival 
of  the  clergyman,  he  informed  him  that,  having  been 
much  in  ill  health  of  late,  he  thought  it  possible  his 
death  might  be  sudden,  and  he  wished,  on  the  score 
of  prudence,  to  take  steps,  at  once,  to  secure  some 
property  to  his  family,  then  living  in  Valparaiso.  He 
wished  the  clergyman  to  be  the  executor  of  his  will, 
and  if  he  would  call  on  him  the  next  morning  at 
eight  o'clock,  he  would  have  all  the  papers  prepared, 
and  would  commit  them  to  his  charge. 

"  They  think  I  have  forgotten  my  angel  and  my 
darlings,"  said  he,  "  but  let  them  not  fash  themselves; 
they  shall  see" — smiling,  and  pointing  most  signifi- 
cantly to  the  floor  as  he  spoke;  as  it  were,  em- 
phasizing his  words  with  his  long,  thin  finger — "  they 
shall  see,  sir — they  shall  see." 

Mr.  Krafft,  after  that,  entertained  some  friends  at 
his  room,  most  agreeably. 

Next  morning,  an  accident  called  off  the  reverend 


Mr.  Karl  Joseph  Kraffr.  235 

gentleman,  and  ho  missed  the  appointed  hour.     LLis 
services  were  never  required. 

In  the  "  spare  room,"  Mr.  KralTt  had  two  guests, 
who  were  seated  at  breakfast,  when  they  heard  the 
report  of  a  pistol  in  their  host's  apartment.  They 
flew  to  his  door ;  it  was  locked.  Running  into  the 
street,  they  looked  through  the  only  window  they 
could  find  open.  The  room  was  full  of  smoke. 
They  waited,  and  strained  their  eyes.  Presently,  they 
said,  they  could  see  the  couch  and  Mr.  Kraflft ;  he  was 
sitting  up  in  bed,  his  eyes  open,  his  mouth  open ;  **  he 
was  rolling  his  head  from  side  to  side — but  there  was 
no  top  to  ■itf'' 

This  was  the  report  thc}^  made  to  me  a  few  minutes 
later.  For  I  lived  hard  by,  and  as  an  intimate  friend 
of  the  suicide,  they  had  recourse  at  once  to  me 
Although  I  lost  no  time,  I  found  a  crowd  had  already, 
gathered  about  the  spot  when  I  reached  Mr.  Kraift's 
door.  AVe  forced  the  lock,  and  I  entered  alone.  My 
Goil!  lie  was  sitting  up  in  bed — his  moutli  wide 
open,  and  quite  l)lack  williin — one  eye  fast  closed,  the 
other  staring.     JIo  had  taken  a  deliberate  position  in 


236  The  New. 

the  middle  of  tlie  bed,  and  propped  himself  against 
the  brass  cross-bars  which  formed  the  head-board. 
His  rifle  lay  on  his  body,  the  stock  resting  on  the 
back  of  a  chair,  the  muzzle  on  his  breast.  He  had 
taken  down  one  of  the  rods  which  supported  his 
curtains,  to  touch  the  trigger  with ;  that  now  lay  beside 
the  rifle.  He  had  forgotten  that  the  weapon  was  not 
charged  ;  he  had  fired  it  at  a  mark  but  a  day  or  two 
before,  to  display  its  extraordinary  force  to  some 
visitor. 

He  had  tried  his  pistols  also ;  for  they  lay  by  his 
side  with  freshly  snapped  caps  on  the  nipples.  They 
also  were  empty.  He  had  discharged  them  at  the 
same  time  with  the  rifle 

The  pistol  which  lay  always  on  the  barrel  remained. 
With  that  he  had  succeeded.  The  charge  had  not 
been  changed  for  many  months,  and  the  explosion 
had,  consequently,  been  terrific.  He  had  fired  with 
the  muzzle  at  his  temple.  The  whole  of  the  top  of 
his  skull  was  shot  away,  completely  and  cleanly,  as 
medical  students,  in  dissection,  saw  it  away  to  get  at 
the  brains.     Fragments  of  the  skull,  with  hair  at- 


Mr.  Karl  Joseph   Kraft't.  237 

tiiclicd,  were  liaiiging  from  tlie  walls  on  every  side, 
and  from  the  ceiling  in  the  farthest  corner.  The  wall 
behind  the  head  was  blackened,  and  bespattered  with 
brains  and  Ijlood  ;  the  brains  lay,  every  ounce  of 
them,  in  a  pool  of  warm  bhjod,  on  the  floor. 

No  will  was  found,  no  coin,  no  gold  dust.  Remem- 
l)ering  the  signifieance  of  the  gesture  described  by 
the  clerg3^man,  we  took  up  the  marble  floor — nothing. 
His  "friends"  all  rol)bed  the  dead  man;  every  buz- 
zard of  them  carried  off  a  fragment.  One  of  his  pen- 
sioners in  the  spare  room  accepted  a  costly  Spanish 
mantle  for  his  share ;  the  other  deigned  to  be  content 
with  the  brilliant  breast-pin.  Two  days  after  his 
funeral,  even  the  portraits  disappeared  from  the 
walls. 

No  living  man  knows  who  the  thieves  were,  or 
where  is  the  uimiarked  grave  of  Karl  Joseph  KrafFt. 
Mr,  KrafFt  himself  will,  no  doubt,  clear  up  all  for  us 
some  day.  According  to  the  spiritualistics,  he  has 
been  heard  from  already. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

OVER  THE   PAHRI: 

A    FRAGMENTARY  LEGEND   OF  SAN  FRANCISCO. 

While  as  yet  there  remained  a  sentiment  of  Sun- 
dayness  in  its  season  to  the  suburbs  of  San  Francisco, 
before  that  sordid,  thankless  El  Dorado  had  hustled 
the  green  fields  on  the  north,  with  all  their  home- 
suggestiveness,  all  their  ways  of  pleasantness  and 
paths  of  peace,  into  the  Bay ;  while  as  yet  the  Pre- 
sidio, the  Lagoon,  or  the  Mission  San  Dolores  was  full 
of  picturesque  recreation  for  hebdomadal  excursion- 
ists, who,  for  an  hour  of  congenial  companionship,  or 
delicious  aloneness,  might  give  their  hearts  an  airing, 
and  treat  themselves  to  a  brimmer  of  the  old  familiar 
feelings,  putting  the  Satan-City  behind  them;  while 
as  yet  the  comfortable  Dutch  clock  ticked  conserva- 


Over  the   Pahri.  239 

tivcly,  as  if  for  all  time,  in  the  old  Switzer's  house 
hard  by  Washerwoman's  Bay,  and  that  hospitable 
gray-beard  laid  the  solid  board  with  pork  and  greens 
of  his  own  raising,  and  the  fat  Fran  Mamma  set  the 
musical-box  going,  and  said  if  Captain  Sutter  would 
only  drop  in  now,  "  dat  was  pesser  as  coot  be ;"  while 
as  yet  Frank  Schaeffer  had  a  chop  and  hot  punch,  and 
a  gentlemanly  game,  and  a  "shake-down"  for  his 
friends,  in  the  snug  adobe  cottage  whither  no  insolent 
street  had  come ;  while  as  yet  there  was  a  small  but 
commodious  grave-yard  to  get  away  to,  wherein  you 
might  lie,  if  so  disposed,  without  crowding,  and  be 
readily  found  as  often  as  any  sentimental  friend  might 
think  your  rude  head-board  worth  the  walk  and  a 
sigh ;  while  as  yet  the  presence  of  the  First  Lady  illu- 
mined Frank  Ward's  home  at  night,  and  blessed  the 
darkness  round  about  it :  in  those  days,  I  took  Mr. 
Karl  Joseph  Krafft  by  the  hand  every  Sunday  after- 
noon, and  said  to  him: 

"  Come  thou  with  me — 
If  from  gray  dawn  to  solemn  night's  approach 


240  The  New. 

Thy  soul  hath  wasted  all  its  better  thoughts, 
Toiling  and  panting  for  a  Uttle  gold, 
Drudging  amid  the  very  lees  of  life 
For  this  accursed  slave  that  makes  men  slaves- 
Come  thou  with  me  into  the  pleasant  fields : 
Let  nature  breathe  on  us  and  make  us  free." 

And  so  we  made  our  Sabbaths — in  giddy  eques- 
trian scamperings  to  the  Presidio  or  the  Mission  ;  or 
sitting  on  a  great  stone,  paddling  with  our  naked  feet 
in  the  waters  of  the  North  Bay ;  or  pantingly  climb- 
ing Telegraph-Hill,  to  take  the  seaward  and  rnoun- 
tainward  views  from  its  summit ;  or  leaning  over  the 
rude  railing  of  some  rare  inclosure  in  that  true  type 
of  a  frontier  grave-yard,  almost  enjoying  the  precious 
quiet  of  the  dead,  released  from  the  hurly-burly  that 
fairly  drove  us  living  distraught. 

There  was  naught  more  Californian  in  our  quick 
experience  of  the  metropolitanish  bustle  at  our  backs, 
than  in  this  necropolis  of  Forty-Nine.  It  num- 
bered not  many  citizens  as  yet,  for  only  the  richest  of 
us  could  afford  the  luxury  of  extramural  interment, 
with  its  sentiment  of  privacy,  and  plausible  security 


Over  the   Pahri.  241 

from  disturbance.  A  grave  cost  sixty  dollars,  and 
one  got  but  a  clumsy  liolc  at  that  price  ;  a  cuflin  of 
the  roughest  boards  not  less  than  thirty,  and  }our 
hasty  hearsing  in  a  mule-cart  as  much  more;  a  priest, 
if  you  must  be  extravagant,  taxed  you  an  ounce  or  two, 
and  it  was  but  short  measure  of  farewell  benediction 
you  got  for  your  money :  as  for  your  "  Earth  to  earth. 
Ashes  to  ashes.  Dust  to  dust,"  a  practical  demonstration 
of  the  formula,  by  the  most  irreverent  of  shovel-flirters, 
came  to  ten  dollars ;  and  your  lop-sided  cross  or 
rough-hewn  head-board,  of  knotty  pine,  painted  white, 
and  inscribed  by  the  least  expert  of  black-letterers  Avith 

the   little  that   was   known  of  you,    (" Smith, 

Maryland;  aged  — .  Died,  July  4th,  1849,")  was  an 
"ounce"  for  monument  and  legend. 

So  we  showed  but  few  tablets  in  memory  of  us ; 
for,  however  munificent  we  Old  Californians  may 
have  been  in  our  golden  lives,  we  stood  no  nonsense 
in  our  iron  deaths. 

Nor  was  our  thriving  little  City  of  the  Dead  by  any 
means  sacredly  forbidden  to  the  sacrilegious  shifts 
of  unscrupulous   speculators;    for,    gentlemen's  sons 


242  The  New. 

"cleaned  out  at  monte,"  or  otherwise  " dead  broke," 
were  wont  to  live  on  corpses  at  a  pinch,  selling  readj- 
made  graves,  guaranteed  against  squatters,  to  other 
gentlemen's  sons  deader  broke  than  themselves,  for 
three  ounces  apiece.  And  when  "Bones,"  of  the 
"  Aguila  de  Oro,"  bethought  him  of  investing  his  sur- 
plus pile  in  a  hearse  and  pall,  with  the  appropriate 
"properties,"  he  found  he  had  "struck  as  pretty  a 
streak  of  luck,"  he  said,  "  as  the  next  man  could 
scare  up." 

"Now,  why  should  we  fash  ourselves,"  homilied 
the  philosophic  KrafPfc  among  the  streets  of  that  Silent 
City:  "why  should  we  fash  ourselves  for  Colton- 
grants  and  government-reserves,  and  sites  at  the  head 
of  navigation  ?  Are  we  not  nice  and  dead,  and  com- 
fortably disposed,  as  gentlemen  of  independent  leisure, 
who  may  take  their  ease  in  their  snuggest  of  inns  ? 
'\Vhy  should  we  fash  ourselves  for  our  twelve  per 
cent,  a  month,  and  our  collateral  securities  ?  or  for  the 
unceremonious  fellows  who  will  be  squatting  on  our 
darling  fifty- varas,  regardless  of  Spanish  titles  and 
American  revolvers  ?    Why  should  we  fash  ourselves 


Over  the  Pahri. 


243 


for  the  price  of  lumber  that  is  rising,  or  the  fire  tliat  is 
waiting  for  our  flimsy  tenement,  or  the  rent  that  is 
not  paid,  or  our  heart  that  would  surely  have  been 
broken  by-and-by  ?  Are  we  not  commodiously  quar- 
tered here,  and  every  way  cosily  and  decently 
arranged  ?  Are  not  our  lodgings  of  the  cheapest,  and 
our  fare  free,  and  our  landlord  liberal,  and  ourselves 
at  rest — nice  and  dead,  nice  and  buried  ?  Is  not  our 
claim  sure  ?     Why  should  we  fash  ourselves  ? 

"  '  Thy  house  is  not 
Highly  timbered  : 
It  is  unhigh  and  low. 
When  thou  art  therein, 
The  heel-ways  are  low, 
The  side-ways  unhigh ; 
The  roof  is  built 
Thy  breast  full  nigh  : 
So  thou  shalt  in  mould 
DweU  full  cold, 
Dimly  and  dark. 
Thus  thou  art  laid, 
And  leavest  thy  friends  : 
Thou  hast  no  friend 


244  The  New. 

Who  will  come  to  thee, 

Who  will  ever  see 

How  that  house  pleaseth  thee — 

Who  will  ever  open 

The  door  for  thee, 

And  descend  after  thee.' 

''Mais,  que  voidez  vous  ?  Thou  hast  made  thy  for- 
tune, thy  pile  of  dust :  why  shoulclst  thou  fash  thy- 
self?" asked  Mr.  Karl  Joseph  Krafift.  "  Yesterday," 
he  said,  "  I  bought  a  water-lot — that  top-sail  schooner 
lies  at  anchor  there ;  but  for  all  that,  here's  a  butter- 
fly. Yesterday  my  bark  came  from  Valparaiso,  and 
brought  me  a  cargo  of  ponchos  and  scrapes.  No  sale 
for  ponchos  and  scrapes;  but  what  of  that?  there 
goes  a  fellow  singing — 

"  '  I  set  my  heart  upon  nothing,  you  see  : 
Hurrah !' 

"  Why  should  we  fash  ourselves  ?" 

Thus  to  quote  with  an  odd  aptness,  almost  comical, 
bits  of  quaint  verse  and  snatches  of  foreign  song,  was 
one  of  Mr.  Krafft's  peculiar  accomplishments. 


Over  the   Paliri.  245" 

Once,  on  one  of  these  Sunday  saunters,  we  were 
returning  townward  from  a  visit  to  the  old  Switzer 
already  alluded  to ;  Mr.  Krafft  had  been  more  than 
usually  characteristic  and  entertaining,  fitting  himself, 
with  his  inllillible  cosmopolitan  faculty,  to  the  place 
and  the  occasion,  with  the  grotesquest  Alpine  legends 
and  fug-ends  of  Tyrolese  ditties ;  now  quizzing  the 
Dutch  clock,  now  teasing  the  parrot ;  anon  gracious 
to  our  revered  host,  or  gallant  to  the  comfortable //a  z/, 
and  winning  both  simple  hearts  with  eloquent  praises 
of  their  dear  Captain  Sutter,  who,  to  their  compa- 
triotic  pride,  stood  for  everj'^thing  that  was  great  and 
glorious. 

As  we  leisurely  followed  the  breezy  road  that  is 
now  Sansome  street,  toward  the  cluster  of  canvas 
houses  and  blue  tents  that  formed  the  north-western 
out-skirt  of  San  Francisco  then,  we  halted  to  contem- 
plate a  neat  white  cottage  of  tiled  adobes  that  sto^d 
apart  from  any  other  dwelling,  in  a  refreshing  garden- 
spot  cleared  from  the  bush,  on  the  right  of,  and  a 
little  lower  than  the  road. 

A  very  fl}-  in   amber   was  that   trenuMidous  little 


246  The  New. 

homestead,  and  "how  the  devil  it  got  there  "  the  very 
duet  of  wonder  that  rose  to  our  hps.  There  was  a 
pretty  white  pahng  in  good  repair,  and  two  sun- 
flowers and  a  hollyhock,  and  a  plucky  morning-glory 
climbing  desperately  at  the  back-door ;  and  there  was 
a  brood  of  adolescent  fowls,  and  a  demure  dog,  of 
mastiff  extraction  but  mild  demeanor,  somnolently 
filling  the  sunniest  of  the  flags  that  made  the  truly  im- 
posing pavement  in  front ;  and  there  were  drab  paper 
curtains  of  a  chaste  pattern  at  all  the  windows ;  the 
green  paint  of  the  doors  was  fresh  and  smart ;  homely, 
comfortable  smoke  ascended  from  the  chimney,  and 
hung  in  fond  delay  over  all  the  house ;  and  the  de- 
clining sun  made  a  golden  benediction  at  the  portal. 

As  lost  in  astonished  satisfaction  we  contemplated 
this  phenomenon  in  white-washed  adobes,  the  tones 
of  a  manly  and  cultivated  voice — clear,  ringing,  and 
measured,  as  of  one  reading  aloud  or  reciting — saluted 
our  ears,  and  I  recognised  the  quaint  charm  of 
Eoscoe's  "  Dirge  "  : 

"  Oh !  dig  a  grave,  and  dig  it  deep, 
Where  I  and  my  true-love  may  sleep  1 


Over  the  Pahri.  247 

We'll  dig  a  grave,  and  dig  it  deep, 
Where  thou  and  thy  true-love  shall  sleep  I 

"And  lot  it  be  five  fatliom  low, 
Where  winter  winds  may  never  blow  I 
And  it  shall  be  five  fathom  low, 
Where  tvinter  winds  shall  never  How  /" 

By  tlie  time  the  voice  had  got  thus  far,  the  sympa- 
thetic iiitcnigence  of  Mr.  KjafFt  had  caught  the  trick 
of  tlie  verse,  albeit  new  to  him — that  weird  echo  of 
repetition,  its  ding-dong-hellish  burthen  ;  and  descend- 
ing lightly  from  the  road,  he  stepped  over  the  pros- 
trate dog,  that  listlessly  stirred  its  tail  and  pointed 
one  ear  as  he  passed,  and  the  next  moment  stood  in 
his  oddest,  but  still  graceful,  attitude  of  philosophic 
attention,  at  the  door,  which  happened  to  be  a  hand's- 
breadth  ajar.     The  voice  continued : 

"  And  let  it  be  on  yonder  hill, 
Where  grows  the  mountain-daffodil  I 
And  it  shaE  he  on  yonder  hill, 
Where  groivs  the  mountain-daffodil  I" 

And  this  timxi  the  refrain  was  rung  in  pairs,  as  it 


248  The  New. 

wei'e — Mr.  Krafft  joining  the  witch-like  music  of 
his  jDeculiar  chaiiut,  to  complete  that  strange  vocal 
chime : 

"  The  rhyming  and  the  chiming  of  the  bells." 

For  a  minute  the  voice  was  still ;  perhaps  the  reader 
had  paused  to  explain  the  mysterious  phenomenon ; 
but  there  was  no  stir  within,  and  presently  again, 
very  slowly,  very  clearly,  as  though  to  challenge  or 
invite  the  echo : 

"  And  plant  it  round  with  holy  briers, 
To  fright  away  the  fairy  fires  1" 

With  impressive  deliberation  and  a  most  weird 
remoteness  of  tone,  that  might  have  been  ventrilo- 
quial,  Mr.  Krafft  responded,  the  voice  within  waiting 
solemnly  for  the  token : 

"  We'll  plant  it  round  with  ho-ly  briers, 
To  fright  a-way  the  fai-ry  fi-resT 

"  And  set  it  round  with  celandine 
And  nodding  heads  of  columbine  !" 

(Mr.  Krafft — and  so  on  to  the  end :) 


Over  the  Pahri.  249 

"  WeU  set  it  round  with  cel-an-dine, 
A  nd  nod-ding  heads  of  col-um-bine.^' 

"  And  let  the  ruddock  build  his  nest 
Just  above  my  true-love's  breast ! 
The  rud-dock  he  shall  build  his  nest 
Just  a-hove  thy  true-love's  breast  I 

•'  Now,  tender  friends,  my  garments  take, 
And  lay  me  out  for  Jesus'  sake  I 
And  we  will  now  thy  gar-ments  take, 
And  lay  thee  out,  for  Jesus'  sake  ! 

"  When  I  am  dead,  and  buried  be, 
Pray  to  God  in  heaven  for  me ! 
Now  thou  art  dead,  tvell  bury  thee. 
And  pray  to  God  in  heaven  for  thee! 
Benedicite  I" 

and  the  door  was  flung  wide.  Mr.  Krafft  bowed, 
cap  off,  to  an  intellectual-looking  man,  of  thirty  years 
perhaps,  in  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  and  with  a 
large  carved  meerschaum  pipe  in  his  hand. 

"  God  save  all  here  !"  said  Mr.  KrafFt. 

"  You  are  welcome,"  responded  the  stranger,  smil- 


250 


The  New. 


ing.  "  It  is  to  you,  sir,  then,  that  I  am  indebted  for 
my  echo — a  graceful  trick,  poetically  conceived  and 
happily  executed :  my  dirge  were  much  too  earthy 
without  it — the  airy  element  so  essential  to  complete 
its  sprightliness ;  and  you  would  seem  to  be  the  very 
Ariel  for  the  occasion.     But  how  came  you  here  ?" 

"  Merely  idly,  almost  impertinently,  sir.  But  you 
have  sights  and  sounds  about  you  that  one  may  not 
easily  get  by,  if  his  eye  and  ear  be  scholarly,  and  his 
heart  true  to  the  old  familiar  memories.  Sunflowers 
and  hollyhocks,  cosy  curtains  and  a  genial  chimney, 
and  the  tenderest  of  lyrics  delivered  in  the  fine  decla- 
mation of  a  hel  esprit,  are  not  common-places  as  yet  in 
our  El  Dorado:  they  are  the  goldsmith's  work,  as 
dainty  and  rococo  as  Benvenuto  Cellini's,  among  our 
crude  ore.     Is  the  Dirge  your  own  ?" 

"  My  own,  sir  ?  Oh  !  no :  I  am  but  the  common 
singer  of  another's  rare  strains.  But  enter — enter! 
while  I  persuade  the  fire  to  join  me  in  a  cheerful 
welcome;  for  these  ungentle  blasts  from  the  sea, 
which  come  every  day  another  day  too  often,  still 
take  one's  blood  by  surprise." 


Over  the  Pahri.  251 

"  Let  us  congratulate  ourselves,"  said  Mr.  Krafil 
in  a  i)liiIosophic  aside  to  me,  as  our  interesting  dis- 
covery fell  back  from  the  d(jor :  "  it's  to  be  hoped 
he's  cracked — one  of  those  entertaining,  ever-fresh 
creatures  known  as  '  madmen,'  because  they  arc  more 
free  than  other  men,  and  have  a  way  of  their  own, 
with  their  wise  surprises,  eloquent  incoherences,  and 
other  such  intellectual  zig-zagry.  But  let  us  not 
flish  ourselves  for  that  yet :  there  are  cracks  that  let 
in  the  light,  you  know ;  and  his,  no  doubt,  is  one  of 
them.     We  shall  see." 

The  fact  is,  my  eccentric  friend  cultivated  a  hearty 
penchant  for  more  or  less  crazy  people,  and  himself 
the  oddest  of  humanit}-,  hailed  the  faintest  trace  of 
oddness,  as  to  opinion,  language,  or  manners,  in  ano- 
ther, as  a  promise  of  congenial  companionship.  In 
the  graceful,  affable,  and  evidently  enlightened  pro- 
prietor of  the  hollyhocks,  the  drab  curtains,  and  the 
canary-bird,  he  discovered  lively  signs  of  that  "  zig- 
zagry"  he  so  fancied,  and  he  rejoiced  accordingly. 
For  an  above-the-average  man,  of  pure  tastes,  and 
elegantly  nurtured,  to  be  so  housed,  so  surrounded,  so 


252  The  New. 

attired,  and  so  employed,  in  San  Francisco  in  Forty- 
Nine,  he  must  (he  argued)  be  either  very  great,  very 
rich,  or  very  mad :  if  he  were  very  great,  he  would 
pretend  to  know  us  ;  if  he  were  very  rich,  we  should 
be  sure  to  know  him :  he  is  therefore  either  here 
because  he  is  mad,  or  mad  because  he  is  here.  But  let 
us  enter,  and  sympathize  with  him,  as  well  as  men  may 
who  labor  under  the  disadvantages  of  a  stupid  sanity. 

"Well,  at  the  end  of  an  hour  we  came  forth  again, 
and  took  the  way  to  town ;  a  ripple  of  soothing,  sil- 
ver talk  was  in  our  ears,  only  broken  by  small  tumults 
of  refined  eloquence,  or  melodious  falls  of  verse  and 
song — what  else  ?  Merely  the  harmonies  of  a  delicate 
spirit,  and  the  ineffaceable  impressions  of  a  presence 
to  which  nothing  of  disclosure  or  discovery  attached 
itself,  by  way  of  explanation,  to  make  it  common- 
place ;  simply  a  name — Philip  Grey  of  New  Orleans — 
no  more.  The  cottage,  the  canary-bird,  the  curtains, 
the  comfortable  dog,  remained  for  us  to  "  fash"  oar 
wits  about,  in  all  the  romantic  "  zig-zagry"  of  adven- 
turous sucssins. 


Over  the   Pahri. 


253 


"Philip  Grey  I"  talkc<l  Mr.  Krafl't,  in  his  waking 
sleep-walking. 

"  And  that  is  all." 

"  And  that  sliould  be  enough.  Let  us  not  look 
our  glorious  gift  horse  in  the  mouth." 

"  But  the  zig-zagry,  my  friend  ?" 

"  "We  will  not  fiish  ourselves  for  that.  If  tlic  gen- 
tleman is  not  mad,  it  is  not  because  he  lacks  the 
acquirements  and  tastes  to  be  so,  gracefully.  He  has 
mind  enough  to  rave,  and  he  would  rave  delight- 
fully. Only  a  name,  that's  true;  but  'Philip  Grey' 
is  a  fair  romance  to  find  on  a  Sunday  saunter,  be- 
tween the  wild  restlessness  of  that  city  and  the  wild 
rest  of  those  disordered  graves." 

Oahu,  of  the  Ilawaiian  group,  is  an  insular  Para- 
dise, and  the  loveliest  vales  of  earth  have  nothing  to 
surpass  the  loveliness  of  its  Nuuanu  valley.  The 
Nuuanu  road,  leading  from  the  many-tribed  town  of 
Honolulu,  is  a  primrose  path  of  dalliance  and  de- 
light ;  and  like  too  many  such  paths  in  the  heart's 
garden  of  allurement,   it   terminates   abruptly   in  a 


254  The  New. 

headlong  precipice — the  Pahri — sheer  down,  I  dare 
not  try  to  remember  how  many  hundred  feet ;  but 
when  last  I  stood  on  its  brink,  clouds  enveloped  me 
like  a  cloak,  the  wayward  Undine  of  water-fall  on 
the  right  was  chapleted  with  a  gay  iris,  and  the 
great  stone  I  tossed  over  into  the  abyss  might  be 
falling  to  this  hour,  for  any  sound  of  bottom  it 
sent  up. 

When  King  Kamehameha,  first  of  the  name,  "  The 
Solitary  One,"  hero  and  usurper,  drove  his  enemies 
at  the  points  of  his  flashing  spears,  foot  by  foot 
through  that  heartless  garden,  which  mocked  their 
death-hour  w^ith  all  its  rainbows  and  cascades  and 
flowers,  he  stayed  not  till  he  stood  in  terrible  tri- 
umph on  the  dizzy  edge  of  the  Pahri,  whence  the 
last  of  his  foes,  wincing  from  his  lance-point,  had 
flung  himself,  with  all  his  warlike  harness  on,  into 
mid-air  with  a  yell ;  and  ever  since,  ten  thousand 
skeletons  have  bleached  among  the  pleasant  plantains 
down  below. 

One  excelling  night  in  June,  1850,  that  glorious 
leap  was  surpassed  in  completeness  of  effect,  by  a 


Over  the  Pahri.  295 

solitary  aspirant  to  the  fame  of  a  consummation  so 
imposing.  A  gay  and  handsome  horseman — horse 
and  man  alike  possessed  of  a  desperate  devit — rode 
out  through  the  cool,  bland  moonlight  of  that  mock- 
ing vale,  leading  in  a  dance  of  death  the  four-footed 
measure  of  his  bewitched  steed.  He  flung  back  the 
laughter  of  the  water-falls  with  dreadful  glee,  and 
defied  the  fire-flies  with  the  uncanny  glitter  of  his 
eyes — still  dancing,  singing  on  ;  till  the  mad  beast 
braced  himself  on  tlic  Ijrink  of  the  Pahri,  and  i)awed 
the  very  edge  with  liis  daring  hoof.  Then  the  gay 
and  handsome  gentleman  uncovered  his  head ;  and 
as  tlie  misty  breeze  from  the  remotely-sounding  sea 
tossed  his  brown  locks  in  the  moonlight,  he  flung  a 
parting  stave  to  the  world  : 

"  To  joy  a  stranger,  a  way-worn  ranger, 
In  every  clanger  my  course  I've  run ; 
Now  lioi)c  all  ending,  and  Death  befriending. 
His  last  aid  lending,  my  cares  are  done." 

Turning  his  horse,  he  rode  back  a  hundred  yards : 


256  The  New. 

"  No  more  a  rover,  or  hapless  lover, 

My  griefs  are  over,  my  glass  runs  low ; 
Then  for  that  reason,  and  for  a  season. 
Let  us  be  merry  before  we  go  1" 

And  again  lie  faced  the  Pabri : 

"  Let  us  be  merry  before  we — Go-o-o  !" 

A  fierce  plunge  of  tlie  spurs ;  a  cap  daslied  to  tlie 
ground ;  a  wild  clieer ;  a  sharp  scream  from  the 
horse,  "as  he  hangs,  the  rocks  between,  and  his  nos- 
trils curdle  in — as  he  shivers  head  and  hoof,  and  the 
flakes  of  foarii  fall  off,  and  his  face  grows  fierce  and 
thin — and  a  look  of  human  woe  from  his  staring  eyes 
doth  go — and  a  sharp  cry  utters  he,  in  a  foretold 
agony  of  the  headlong  death  below ;"  a  dark  mass 
flung  straight  out  in  the  face  of  the  moon ;  a  keen 
whizzing,  piercing  to  sky  and  sea;  a  mighty  crash 
of  boughs  and  branches,  down,  down,  down  below — 
and  then  again  the  tuneful  tinkle  of  the  water-fall, 
the  bland  mocking  of  the  moon,  the  happy  prattle  of 
crickets  I 


Over  the   Pahri. 


257 


Tlunali   for  Philip  Grey !   whoever,   whatever  he 
was,     Mr.  KraiVt  was  right  about  the  zig-zagry. 


The    Old. 

,  [INDIA.] 

Let  what  is  broken,  so  remain. 
The  gods  are  hard  to  reconcile : 
'Tis  hard  to  settle  order  once  again. 
There  is  confusion  worse  than  death. 
Trouble  on  trouble,  pain  on  pain." 

Tennyson — The  Lotus-Eaters. 


o 


Pi 

K 

O 

w 


CHAPTER  I. 

MAMOUL. 

THaOUGH  THE  COSSITOLLAII    KALEIDOSCOPE. 

Under  my  window,  in  the  street  called  Cossitollah, 
flows  all  the  motliness  of  a  Calcutta  thoroughfare  in 
two  countersetting  currents;  one  Chowringee-ward, 
in  the  direction  of  Nabob  magnificence  and  grace  ;  the 
other  toward  the  Coolj  squalor  and  deformity  of  the 
Radda  Bazaar ; — and  as  in  the  glare  of  the  early  fore- 
noon sun,  the  shadows  of  the  hither  or  thither  passing 
throngs  fall  straight  across  the  way,  from  the  Parsee's 
goJown,  over  against  me,  to  the  gate  of  the  j^i^f^ca 
liouse  wherein  my  look-out  is,  I  watch  with  interest 
the  frequent  eddies  occasioned  by  the  clcar-steeriugs  of 
Caste  —  Brahmin,  Warrior,  and  ^lerchant  keeping 
severely  to  the  Parsec  side,  so  that  the  foul  shadow  of 


262  The  Old. 

Soodra  or  Pariah  may  not  pollute  their  sacred  persons. 
It  is  as  though  my  window  were  a  tower  of  Allahabad, 
and  below  me,  in  Cossitollah,  were  the  shy  meeting 
of  the  waters.  Thus,  looking  up  or  down,  I  mark 
how  the  limpid  Jumna  of  high  caste  holds  its  way  in 
a  common  bed,  but  never  mingling,  with  the  turbid 
Ganges  of  an  unclean  rabble. 

Reader,  should  you  ever  "  do"  the  City  of  Palaces, 
permit  me  to  commend  with  especial  emphasis  to  your 
consideration  this  same  Cossitollah,  as  a  representative 
street,  wherein  the  European  and  Asiatic  elements  of 
the  Calcutta  panorama  are  mingled  in  the  most  pic- 
turesque proportions  ;  for  Cossitollah  is  the  link  that 
most  directly  joins  the  pitiful  benightedness  of  the 
Black  Town  to  the  imposing  splendors  of  Kumj^nee 
Bahadoor — the  short,  but  stubborn  chain  of  responsi- 
bility, as  it  were,  whereby  the  ball  of  helpless  and  in- 
fatuated stock-and-stone-worship  is  fastened  to  the  leg 
of  British  enlightenment  and  accountability. 

From  the  Midaun,  or  Parade  Ground,  with  its  long- 
drawn  arrays  of  Sepoy  chivalry,  its  grand  reviews 
before  the  Burra  Lard  Sahib  (as  in  domestic  Bengalee 


Mamoul.  263 

we  designate  the  Governor  General),  its  solemn  sham 
battles,  and  its  welkin-rending  regimental  bands,  by 
whose  brass  and  sheepskin  God  saves  the  Queen  twice 
a  day;  from  Government  House,  with  its  historic 
pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance,  and  its  red  tape,  its 
aides-de-camp  and  its  adjutant  birds,  its  stirring  asso- 
ciations and  its  stupid  architecture ;  from  the  pen- 
sioned aristocracy  of  Chowringhee  the  Magnificent; 
from  the  carnival  concourse  of  the  Esplanade,  with 
its  kaleidoscopic  surprises ;  from  the  grim  patronage 
of  Fort  William,  with  its  in-every-department-well- 
regulated  fee-faw-fum  ;  in  fine,  from  Clivc,  and  Hast- 
ings, and  Wellington,  and  Gough,  and  Hardinge,  and 
Napier,  and  Bcntinck,  and  Ellenborough,  and  Dal- 
housie,  and  all  the  John  Company  that  has  come  of 
them;  from  the  tremendous  and  overwhelming 
Sahib,  to  that  most  profoundly  abject  of  human 
objects,  the  Hindoo  Pariah  (who  approaches  thee, 
O  Awful  Being!  O  Benign  Protector  of  the  Poor! 
O  Writer  in  the  Salt-and-Opium  Office !  on  his 
hands  and  knees,  and  with  a  wisp  of  grass  in  his 
mouth  to  denote  that   he  is    thy  beast)  —  from  all 


264  The  Old. 

those    to    this    the  shortest    cut    is    through   Cossi- 
toUah. 

And  so,  in  the  current  of  its  passengers,  partaking 
the  characteristics  of  its  contrasted  extremities,  fantas- 
tically blending  the  purple  and  fine  linen  of  Chowring- 
hee  with  the  breech-cloths  of  the  Black  Town,  Cossi- 
tollah  is,  as  I  have  said,  pre-eminently  the  type  street 
of    Calcutta.      Other    localities  have   their  peculiar 
throngs,  and  certain  classes  and  castes  are  proper  to 
certain  thoroughfares  :     Sepoys  and  dog-boys  to  the 
Midaun  ;  circars  or  clerks,  and  chowkeydars  or  private 
police,  to  Tank  Square  ;  a  world  of  pampered  women, 
fat  civil  servants,  coachmen,  ayahs  or  nurses,  durwans 
or  doorkeepers,  chaprasseys  or  messengers,  kitmudgars 
or  waiters,  to  Garden  Keach ;  palanquin-bearers,  the 
smaller  fry  of  banyans  or  shopkeepers,  and  dandees  or 
boatmen,  to   the   Ghauts;  together  with   no  end  of 
coolies,   and  bheestees  or  water-carriers,  horse-dealers, 
and  syces  or  grooms,  to  Durumtollah ;  sailors,  British 
and  American,  Malay  and  Lascar,  to  Flag  Street,  the 
quarter  of  punch-houses.    But  in  Cossitollah  all  castes 
and  vocations  are  to  be  met,  whether  their  talk  be  of 


Mamoul.  265 

gold  mohurs  or  cowries ;  lierc  the  Sahib  gives  the 
horrid  leper  a  wide  berth,  and  the  Baboo  walks  care- 
fully round  the  shadow  of  Mehtur,  the  sweeper. 
Therefore,  reader,  Cossitollah  is  by  all  means  the  street 
for  you  to  draw  profound  conclusions  from. 

Come !  let  us  sit  in  the  window  and  observe ;  it  is 
but  forty  puffs  of  a  No.  3  cheroot,  in  a  lazy  palan- 
quin, from  one  end  of  Cossitollah  to  the  other ;  and 
from  our  window,  though  not  exactly  midway,  but 
nearer  the  Bazaar,  we  can  see  from  Flag  Street  well- 
nigh  to  the  Midaun. 

What  is  this  ?  A  close  palkee,  with  a  passenger  ; 
the  bearers,  with  elbows  sharply  crooked,  and  calves 
all  varicose,  trotting  to  a  monotonous,  jerking  ditty, 
which  the  sirdar,  or  leader,  is  impudently  improvising, 
to  the  refrain  of  Putierum,  ("  Easy  now ! ")  at  the 
expense  of  their  fare's  amour-propre. 

"  Out  of  the  way  there  ! 
Puiterum. 
This  is  a  Rajali ! 

Putterttm. 


266  The  Old. 

Very  small  Rajah ! 

Puiterum. 
Sixpenny  Rajah! 

Putterum. 
Holes  in  his  elbows  I 
Putterum. 
Capitan  Slipshod ! 

Putterum. 
Son  of  a  sea-cook ! 

Putterum. 
Hush  I  he  will  beat  us ! 

Ptdterum. 
Hush  I  he  will  kick  us  1 

Putterum. 
Kick  us  and  curse  us ! 
Putterum. 
Not  he,  the  greenhorn  I 

Putterum. 

Don't  understand  us ! 

Putterum. 

Don't  know  the  lingo ! 

Putterum. 

Let's  shake  the  palkee  I 

Putterum. 


Mamoul.  267 

Rattle  the  pig's  bones  I 

PuUerum. 
Set  down  the  palkce  I 

PuUerum. 
Call  him  a  great  lord  ! 

PuUerum. 
Ask  him  for  buksheesh  I 

PuUerum." 

And  the  four  consummate  knaves  do  set  down  the 
palkee,  and  shift  the  pads  on  their  shoulders ;  while 
the  sirdar  slips  round  to  the  sliding-door,  and  timidly 
intruding  his  sweaty  phiz,  at  an  opening  sufficiently 
narrow  to  guard  his  nose  against  assault  from  within, 
but  wide  enough  to  give  us  a  glimpse,  through  an 
out-bursting  cloud  of  cheroot-smoke,  of  a  pair  of  stout 
legs  encased  in  white  duck,  with  the  neatest  of  light 
pumps  at  the  end  of  them,  says : — 

^^ Buksheesh  do,  Sahih!  buJcsheesh  do!  O  fivorite 
friend  of  the  Lord  I  0  tender  shepherd  of  the  poor ! 
O  sublime  and  beautiful  Being,  upon  whose  turban 
Prosperity  dances  and  Peace  makes  her  bed !  Whose 
mother  is  twin-sister  to  the  Sacred  Cow,  and  whose 


268  The  Old. 

grandmother  is  tlie  Lotos  of  Seven  Virtues !  0 
Klioddbund!  huksheesh  dol  Bestow  upon  thy  abject 
and  self-despising  slave  wherewithal  to  commemorate 
the  golden  hour  when,  by  a  blessed  dispensation,  he 
was  permitted  to  lay  his  trembling  forehead  against 
thy  victorious  feet !  " 

''^  Jou-jehannum^  loom  sooa! — Go  to  Gehenna,  you 
pig!  "What  are  you  bothering  about,  with  your 
'boxes,'  'boxes,'  nothing  but  'boxes?'  Insatiable 
brutes !  Jou  !  I  tell  you — ^eldie  jou  !  or  by  Doorga, 
the  goddess  of  awful  rows,  I'll  smash  the  palkee  and 
outrage  all  your  religious  prejudices  !     Jou!'''' 

Evidently  our  varicose  friends  imagine  they  have 
caught  a  Tartar,  and  that  the  white  ducks  are  not  so 
recent  an  importation  as  they  at  first  supposed;  for 
now  they  catch  up  the  pole  of  the  palkee  nimbly,  and 
pit  jeldie  (that  is,  trot  up  smartly)  to  quite  another 
song. 

'■''Jddie  jou,  jeldie/ 

Putterum. 
Carry  him  softly ! 

Puttertmi. 


Manioiil. 

Swiftly  and  smoothly  I 

PuUerum. 
lie  is  a  Rajah  I 

PuUerum. 
Rii.-h  little  Rajah  ! 

Putterum. 
Fierce  little  Rajah  I 

PuUerum. 
See  how  his  eyes  flash  I 

Putterum. 
Hear  how  his  voice  roars! 

PuUerum. 
He  is  a  Tippoo ! 

PuUcrtim. 
CapitaD  Tippoo ! 

PuUerum. 
Tremble  before  him  I 

PuUerum. 
Serve  him  and  please  him  I 

PuUerum. 
Please  him  and  serve  him ! 

Putterum, 
He  will  reward  us  ! 

PuUcruDt. 


iC-K) 


270  The  Old. 

He  will  protect  us  1 

Putterum. 
He  will  enrich  us ! 

Putterum. 
Charity  Lard  Sa'b ! 

Putterum, 
Out  of  the  way  there  1 

Putterum. 
Way  for  the  great . . . 

Putterum. 
Rajah  of  ten  crores  ! 

Putter. . . . 
Ten  crores ! . . 

Putter .... 
Rajah 

Put 

Lard 

Putter.  . . . 
Sa'b ! 

rum. 

And  so  tliey  have  turned  down  Flag  Street. 

I  once  knew  a  man  wlio  was  engaged  to  be  mar- 
ried before  be  was  born  ;  that  was  my  Parsee  neigh- 


Mamoiil.  271 

bor,  the  amiable  Gheber,  wlio,  in  the  pucka  house  that 
adjoined  my  own  in  Cossitollah,  fed  his  sacred  flame 
with  orthodox  solicitude  and  sandal-wood,  cursed  the 
Koran  duly,  rehearsed  the  precepts  of  Zoroaster, 
bragjzed  of  Sir  Jamsetjee  Jeejeebhoy,  turned  an  hon- 
est Parsee  penny,  and  dwelt  with  his  children's  chil- 
dren in  profound  and  mysterious  content. 

My  Parsee  neighbor  was  brought  forth  on  the 
ground-floor  (literally  on  the  ground,  or  on  the  floor), 
a  moralistic  peculiarity  of  Zoroastrian  obstetrics,  to 
which  he  was  doubtless  as  indifferent  as  he  was  to 
the  circumstance  of  being  introduced  to  a  wife  by  the 
same  ceremony  that  introduced  him  to  the  world ; 
and  fur  live  days  they  fed  him  with  sugar  and  wa- 
ter through  a  wick,  regardless  of  the  JMicawburiau 
"  fount"  that  flowed  in  vain  for  him. 

Then  they  brouglit  an  astrologer,  abounding  in 
beard,  and  voluble  in  gibberish,  and  greedily  itching 
as  to  his  palm  ;  and  he  horoscoped  my  Parsee  neigh- 
bor, him  and  all  that  should  come  of  him  ;  and  he 
forecasted  him,  by  the  children  he  should  have,  and 
by  rupees,  and  by  honors,  and  by  all  the  chances 


272  The  Old. 

and  changes,  the  gains  and  the  losses,  of  a  Parsee 
experience;  and  he  conjured  from  the  stars  a  calen- 
dar of  names  as  long  as  the  roll  of  warrior-pilgrims 
who  brought  over  the  sacred  flame  from  Khorassan 
to  Ormuz  ;  and  he  said  to  the  sponsors  of  my  Parsee 
neighbor,  "  Choose !"  There  was  Bonnarjee,  and 
Framjee,  and  Camajee,  and  Sorabjee,  and  Pestonjee, 
and  Hormusjee,  and  Nusserwanjee,  and  Furdoonjee, 
and  Nourojee,  and  Cowasjee,  and  Jamsetjee,  and  By- 
ramjee,  and  Heerjee,  and  Rustomjee,  and  all  the 
jees;  and  Nanabhoy,  and  Dhunjeebhoy,  and  Dada- 
bhoy,  and  Dosabhoy,  and  Rhusabhoy,  and  Janjee- 
bhoy,  and  Nourabhoy,  and  Jeejeebhoy,  and  all  the 
bhoys.  So  they  made  him  one  of  the  bhoys — Kir- 
setjee  Damthebhoy — and  they  all  blessed  him ;  and 
they  prayed  that  his  autograph  might  be  equivalent 
to  many  lacs,  and  his  name  a  tower  of  financial 
strength  for  lame  ducks  to  roost  in. 

Yerily  my  Parsee  neighbor  was  the  apple  of  his 
mother's  eye,  and  endless  were  her  tender  inspira- 
tions in  the  inventing  of  wondrous  kickshaws  for  his 
holiday  adornment :  in  all  Cossitollah  there  was  not 


Mamoiil.  2"]^ 

so  superfine  a  vunity  as  his  little  jublila  of  Canton 
silk,  -svitli  flowing  and  fantastic  sleeves;  and  the  sun 
made  a  glory  of  his  gold-embroidered  skull-cap. 
When  he  was  seven  years  old,  all  the  kindred  of  his 
father's  house,  and  all  the  friends  thereof,  assembled 
in  the- inner  temple,  to  see  the  high-priest  invest  him 
with  the  symbolic  raiment  of  the  fire- worshipper — 
"  the  garment  of  the  good  and  beneficial  way,"  called 
sudra^  and  kusti^  the  consecrated  cord — girded  three 
times  about  his  small  loins,  and  knotted  with  four 
prayers. 

And  now  it  was  time  that  my  Parsee  neighbor 
should  come  into  his  pre-natal  wife-property :  a 
comparison  of  horoscopes  was  accordingly  effected 
through  the  instrumentality  of  a  mercenary  i)riost ; 
fortunes  and  respectabilities,  and  all  the  delicacies  of 
the  expediency  season,  were  discussed  and  approved, 
and  the  match  puclcaQdi — which  is,  as  though  one 
should  say,  "  clinched  " — by  an  interchange  of  pre- 
sents for  the  respective  wardrobes  of  the  bride  and 
groom  ;  and  behold  my  Parsee  neighbor  made  a  man 
of— a  little  man,  with  a  mother-in-law ;    which,   as 


274  The  Old. 

Gheber  mothers-in-law  go,  means  a  man  witli  a  curse, 
and  a  call  for  a  special  dispensation  of  patience.  But 
my  Parsee  neighbor's  toes  had  been  dipped  in  the 
ceremonial  milk,  and  his  face  had  been  rubbed  with 
the  bride's  vest ;  so  retreat  was  cut  off,  and  there  was 
no  help  for  his  predicament  but  to  ponder  his  Zend- 
Avesta,  and  hold  his  peace.  Nor  was  there  hope 
that  he  might  diminish  his  troubles  by  multiplying 
them ;  for  bigamy  is  a  Parsee  abomination,  and  an 
experiment  in  that  direction  would  have  involved 
my  neighbor  in  the  scrape  of  the  unfortunate  Jem- 
shedjee,  who  was  excommunicated  by  the  honorable 
punchayet,  the  administrative  body,  for  flying  matri- 
monially from  the  teeth  of  one  vixen  to  the  nails  of 
another.  He  was  compelled  to  pay  two  thousand 
rupees  toward  the  maintenance  of  Teeth,  and  to  re- 
store to  her  all  her  jewels  and  ornaments,  while 
jSTails  had  to  be  repudiated  for  ever. 

But  my  Parsee  neighbor  has  his  wholesome  dis- 
tractions and  his  consolations,  which  he  finds  in  the 
golden  results  of  the  shop,  in  happy  "operations" 
and  rich  returns,  in  safe  investments  and  fit  con- 


Manioul 


275 


tracts  ;  and  lie  lias  Lis  pleasant  dreams  that  are  Cau- 
dle-proof; his  visions  of  diplomas  and  decorations, 
of  vice-regal  compliments  and  parliamentary  culo- 
giums,  of  baronetcies,  and  coats-of-arms,  and  statues — 
Sir  Kirsetjee  Damthebhoy  ! 

Are  there  not  Dadysett,  and  Pestonjee,  and  Her- 
mosjee  Wadia,  and  Framjee  Nusserwanjee,  and  Co- 
wasjee  Jeehangir,  and  the  Camas  of  India,  China, 
England — true  merchant-princes,  to  whom  the  shaky 
speculators  of  Western  Wall  Streets  are  but  small 
money-mongers  ?  Are  there  not  "  towers  of  silence  " 
to  erect,  and  hospitals  to  found,  and  colleges  and 
schools  of  design  to  endow,  and  bridges  and  aque- 
ducts and  causeways  to  build,  and  railroads  to  pro- 
ject, and  wells  and  tanks  to  construct,  and  libraries 
and  free-schools,  and  Zend-Avesta  schools,  and  dhur- 
umsallas,  and  churches,  and  sailors'-homes,  and 
book-and-prize  funds,  and  funds  for  the  funeral  ex- 
penses of  poor  Parsees,  and  contributions  to  public 
charities,  and  funds  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor  blind, 
and  subscriptions  to  the  Punchayet  for  beneficent  jMir- 
l^oses,  and  funds  for  the  relief  of  honest  debtors,  and 


276  The  Old. 

schools  of  industry,  and  obstetric  institutions,  and  pa- 
triotic funds,  and  memorials,  and  Havelock  testimo- 
nials, and  Wellington  testimonials,  and  wliat  not,  to 
provide  for  :  living  honors  and  an  everlasting  name  ? 
And  my  Parsee  neighbor,  with  closed  eyes,  rapturous, 
nurses  his  vision  till  it  glows,  all  glorious,  with  the 
armorial  bearings  of  Sir  Jamsetjee  Jeejeebhoy — a 
shield  of  the  Knights  of  St.  John,  emblazoned  with 
scrolls  of  gold :  "at  the  lower  part,  a  landscape  in 
India,  representing  the  island  of  Bombay,  with  the 
islands  of  Salsette  and  Elephanta  in  the  distance. 
The  sun  is  seen  rising  from  behind  Salsette,  to  de- 
note industry,  and,  in  diffusing  its  light  and  heat, 
liberality.  The  upper  part  of  the  shield  presents  a 
white  ground,  emblematic  of  integrity  and  purity,  on 
which  are  two  bees,  signifying  industry  and  perse- 
verance. The  whole  is  surmounted  by  a  crest,  repre- 
senting a  beautiful  peacock,  typical  of  wealth  and 
magnificence ;  and  in  its  mouth  an  ear  of  wild  rice, 
emblematic  of  beneficence.  Below  is  a  white  pennant, 
folded,  on  which  is  inscribed,  'Industry  and  Libe- 
rality!' the  motto  of" — Sir  Kirsetjee  DamthebhoyI 


Maiiioul.  2-j-j 

My  Parsee  neiglilK)r  is  an  exalted  humanitarian  in  a 
canine  direction,  regarding  dogs  as  liis  friends  and 
brothers,  and  piously  according  them  (in  undue  pro- 
portion, on  the  score  of  justice  to  cats)  a  fellow-feeling 
that  makes  him  Avondrous  kind.  Ilis  solicitude  for 
the  Trays,  Blanches,  and  Sweethearts  of  his  love,  is 
distinguished  by  a  sweeping  catholicity  of  scope ; 
ignoring  narrow  distinctions  of  breed,  as  to  mastiff  or 
poodle,  bull-dog  or  greyhound,  spaniel  or  pariah,  his 
benevolence  comjDrehends  in  the  circle  of  its  kind 
offices  the  abstract  animal — universal  dogry,  and  its 
common  good.  When  his  operations  on  land  and  his 
ventures  by  sea,  his  Bombay  brokerages  and  his  Surat 
shipyard,  shall  have  returned  him  a  fair  Parsee  for- 
tune, and  established  him  on  a  financial  footing  with 
the  princely  tradei's  of  his  tribe,  it  is  his  fond  inten- 
tion to  found  a  hospital  for  the  indigent  sick  of  that 
great  quadrupedal  community,  whereat  halt  dogs  and 
dogs  that  are  blind,  mangy  dogs  and  dogs  stricken 
with  confirmed  asthma,  dogs  that  have  lost  their  tails 
by  traps,  their  toes  by  coach-wheels,  dogs  whose  minds 
have   been   impaired  by  afllliction,  as  well   as  those 


278  The  Old. 

whose  bodies  have  suffered  in  fights — disabled  dog- 
kind  generally,  whatever  the  nature  or  degree  of 
its  melancholy  dispensation,  shall  be  free  to  the  con- 
solations of  splints  and  bandages,  soothing  poultices 
and  'potecary's  stuff,  with  wholesome  bones  in  abun- 
dance, and  the  sweetest  of  straw  beds.  So  shall  my 
Parsee  neighbor  falfll  a  particular  injunction  of 
Zoroaster,  and  make  sure  for  his  soul  that  it  shall 
be  spoken  for  in  the  day  when  enfranchised  Dog 
shall  speak  for  itself. 

At  times,  my  Parsee  neighbor  draws  his  dreams 
from  a  soaring  patriotism,  brought  over  by  his  pil- 
grim fathers  from  Ormuz  to  Sanjan  with  the  other 
sacred  flame,  and  fed,  like  that,  with  the  incense  of  an 
inspiring  romance.  It  is  a  fondly-cherished  story,  and 
full  of  the  legendary  loveliness  of  his  tribe,  wherewith 
he  is  wont  to  hold  the  wide-eyed  wonder  of  his  pretty 
boy,  perched,  listening,  on  his  knee. 

He  tells  how  Mohammedan  lions  came  down,  in 
crushing  onslaughts,  on  the  fold  of  his  fathers — the 
ancient  Persian  people — and  drove  them  dismayed 
into   the    fostnesscs  of  Kliorassan ;    he  tells  of  the 


Manioul 


279 


sword-conversions  of  the  Caliphs,  the  bloody  sermons 
of  ^foslem  priests ;  of  the  dethronement  and  flight  of 
the  doomed  Yezduzird,  his  wanderings  in  solitude  and 
disguise,  and  his  treacherous  assassination  by  a  miller — 
whence  the  old  Persian  proverb,  "  Beware  a  mil- 
ler's trust;"*  of  Caliphat  troops  traversing  tlic 
length  and  breadth  of  Iran,  with  scimitar  and  Koran, 
burning  the  firc-temples,  quenching  obscenely  the 
sacred  flame,  and  daily  forcing  a  hundred  thousand 
trembling  Ghebers  to  abjure  their  poetic  creed.  He 
tells  how,  after  a  century  of  patient  faith  and  fortitude, 
passed  in  tlic  caves  and  forests  of  Khorassan,  the  per- 
secutors penetrated  to  the  hiding-place  of  the  brave 
little  band,  and  hunted  them  down  to  Ormuz,  where 
yet  they  were  not  safe  from  the  impious  and  the  cruel. 
So  they  sought  an  insecure  asylum  on  the  small  island 
of  Diew,  in  the  Gulf  of  Cambay,  and  tarried  there  in 
terror,  till  "  an  aged  dastoor,  reading  the  tablets  of  the 
stars,  augured  that  it  behooved  them  to  depart  from 
that  place,    and    take    up    their    abode    elsewhere. 

*  DosAijiiOY  Fkamjee — "  Tlie   Parsccs." 


28o  The  Old. 

Whereat,  all  rejoicing,  set  sail  for  Guzerat."  Then 
came  a  mighty  storm  that  shook  their  souls  no  less 
than  their  shij)3,  and  rent  their  hearts  and  their  sails ; 
so  that  they  prayed,  trembling,  to  Ormuzd,  the  author 
of  light  and  truth,  of  heat  and  goodness,  to  save  them 
from  the  infernal  spells  of  Ahriman,  minister  of  dark- 
ness, ignorance,  and  evil.  "Deliver  us,  0  Ormuzd! 
from  this  sea  of  trouble,  and  bring  us  in  safety  to  the 
shores  of  India,  that  we  may  kindle  on  high  the  flame 
sacred  to  thee,  and  keep  it  ever  bright,  fed  with  obedi- 
ence and  righteousness." 

And  Ormuzd  hearkened  to  their  piteous  prayer, 
and  brought  them  in  safety  to  the  shores  of  India 
— to  Sanjan,  whereof  Jadao  Eana  was  the  wise 
and  liberal  ruler.  When  Jadao  heard  of  the  ad- 
vent of  the  tempest-tossed  strangers,  he  commanded 
tliat  they  be  brought  before  him,  and  demanded  who 
they  were. 

"We  are  worshippers  of  Ormuzd,"  replied  the  vene- 
rable dastoor,  "  and  of  the  Sun,  and  the  Sea. 

"  We  observe  silence  while  bathing,  praying,  making 
offerings  to  fire,  and  eating. 


Mamoul.  281 

"We  consume  incense,  perfumes,  and  flowers,  in 
our  religious  ceremonies. 

"  We  wear  the  sacred  garment — the  garment  of  the 
good  and  beneficial  way — the  cincture  for  the  loins, 
and  the  cap  of  two  folds. 

"We  rejoice  in  songs  and  instruments  of  music, 
in  our  marriages. 

"We  adorn  and  perfume  our  wives. 

"  We  are  enjoined  to  be  bountiful  in  our  charities, 
and  especially  to  excavate  tanks  and  wells. 

"  We  are  enjoined  to  extend  our  sympathies  toward 
males  as  well  as  females. 

"We  wear  the  sacred  girdle  while  praying  or 
eating. 

"  We  feed  the  sacred  flame  with  incense. 

"  We  practise  devotion  five  times  a  day. 

"  We  are  careful  observers  of  conjugal  fidelity  and 
purity. 

"  Wc  perform  annual  ceremonies  for  the  souls  of 
our  ancestors. 

"Wc  have  suffered — therefore  we  arc  true;  wc 
have  been  patient — therefore  wc  are  brave.     Give  us 


282  The  Old. 

a  bill,  whereon  we  may  raise  a  tower  of  silence,  and 
Liuy  our  dead;  give  us  a  field,  wlierein  we  may 
build  a  temple,  and  feed  our  iioly  flame;  give  us  a 
stream,  wherein  we  may  bathe  and  pray,  girt  with 
the  sacred  cord.  And  we  will  be  thy  brothers,  at 
peace  with  thy  people,  at  peace  with  thy  gods." 

And  Jadao  Eana  said:  "It  is  well;  ye  shall  raise 
your  tower  of  silence,  and  bury  your  dead ;  ye  shall 
build  your  fire-temple,  and  feed  your  holy  flame ;  ye 
shall  bathe  in  a  pure  stream,  girt  with  your  sacred 
cincture;  and  no  man  shall  molest  you.  But  ye 
shall  forget  your  Parsee  language  and  speak  hence- 
forth in  our  tongue ;  ye  shall  cast  off  your  armor  and 
clothe  yourselves  in  our  fashion ;  and  when  ye  marry 
3'our  young  children,  ye  shall  order  the  marriage 
ceremonies  and  processions  according  to  our  custom, 
having  your  weddings  by  night;  so  shall  ye  be  at 
peace  with  my  people,  at  peace  with  my  gods." 

The  Dastoor  promised  as  the  Rana  required ;  and 
thus  it  is  with  My  Parsee  Neighbor. 

But  what  now?  Here  truly  is  something  imposing 
— a  chariot-and-four, — four  spanking  Arabs  in  gold- 


Mamoul.  "  28 


mounted  trappings — a  fat  and  elaborate  coachman, 
very  solemn — two  tall  Jairkai'us,  or  av ant-couriers, 
supporting  the  box,  one  on  either  side,  with  studied 
symmetry,  like  Siva  and  Vishnu  upholding  the  throne 
of  Brahma — four  sijces  running  at  the  horses'  heads, 
each  with  his  chowree,  or  fly-flapper,  made  from  the 
tail  of  the  Thibet  cow — a  fifth  before,  to  clear  the 
way — a  basket  of  simpJcin,  which  is  as  though  one 
should  say  Champagne,  behind — and  our  own  Banyan, 
our  man  of  contracts  and  ready  lacs,  that  shrewd 
broker  and  substantial  banker,  the  Baboo  Kalidas 
Ramaya  Mullick,  on  the  back  seat. 

"M/  Giattah-ivallah !  Bheesteel — Hi!  hi! — You 
chap  with  the  umbrella,  you  fellow  with  the  water, 
clear  the  way  !  This  Baboo  comes,  this  Baboo  rides 
— ^he  stops  not,  he  stays  not — he  is  rich,  he  is  honored. 
Shall  a  pig  impede  him  ?  Shall  a  pig  delay  him  ? 
Jump,  sooa,  jump  I" 

And  thus,  amid  much  vociferation,  and  unceremo 
nious  dispersing  of  the  common  herd,  who  dodge  with 
practised  agility  right  and  left,  the  fat  and  elaborate 
coachman  pulls  up  the  spanking  Arabs  at  our  godoicn 


284  The  Old. 

gate,  and  the  Baboo  aliglits  with  the  air  of  a  gentle- 
man of  thirty  lacs,  to  the  manner  born ;  to  him  all 
this  outcry  is  but  Mamoul — usage,  custom — and  Ma- 
moul  is  to  him  as  air. 

As  the  Baboo  steps  through  the  wide-swinging  gate 
and  enters  the  place  that  owns  him  master,  let  us 
mark  his  reception.  The  Durwan  first — our  grenadier 
doorkeeper,  the  man  of  proud  port  and  commanding- 
presence,  to  whom  that  portal  is  a  post  of  honor — 
our  Athos,  Porthos,  and  Aramis,  in  one,  of  courage, 
strength  and  address,  enlisted  with  fidelity.  The  loy- 
alty of  Eamee  Durwan  is  threefold,  in  this  order :  first 
to  his  caste,  next  to  his  beard,  and  then  to  his  post ; 
only  for  the  two  first  would  he  abandon  the  last ;  his 
life  he  holds  of  less  account  than  either. 

As  the  Baboo  passes,  Ramee  Durwan,  you  think, 
will  be  ready  with  profound  and  obsequious  salaam. 
Not  so ;  he  draws  himself  up  to  the  very  last  of  his 
extraordinary  inches,  and  touches  his  forehead  lightly 
with  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand,  only  slightly  inclin- 
ing his  head — a  not  more  than  affable  salute — almost 
with  a  quality  of  concession,     gracious   as   well   as 


Mamoul.  285 

graceful ;  he  would  do  as  mucli  for  any  puppy  of  a 
cadet  who  might  drop  in  on  the  Sahib.  On  the  other 
hand,  lowly  louteth  the  Baboo,  with  eyes  downcast, 
and  palm  applied  reverentially  to  his  sleek  forehead. 

How  now  ?  This  Baboo  is  a  banyan  of  solid  sub- 
stance, and  the  Mullicks  all  are  citizens  of  credit  and 
renown ;  while  Ramee  Durwan  gets  five  rupees  a 
month,  and  makes  his  bed  at  the  gate.  Last  year, 
they  say,  when  little  Dwarkanath  Mullick,  the  Baboo's 
adopted  son,  nine  years  old,  was  married  to  the  tender 
child  Vinda,  old  Lulla  Seal's  darling,  on  her  fifth 
birthday,  the  Baboo  Kalidas  Ramaya  Mullick  made 
the  occasion  famous,  by  liberating  fifty  prisoners-for- 
debt,  of  the  Soodra  sort,  with  as  many  flourishes  of 
his  illustrious  signature.  Eamee  Durwan  has  not  a 
change  of  turbans. 

And  now  the  Baboo  passes  into  the  godown,  and 
receives  from  a  score  of  servile  circm's,  glibbest  of 
clerks,  their  several  reports  of  the  day's  business. 
Presently,  from  his  low  desk,  in  the  lowliest  corner, 
uprises,  and  comes  forward  quietly,  Mutty  Loll  Roy, 
the  head  circar — venerable,  placid,  pensive,  every  way 


286  The  Old. 

interesting ;  but  he  is  only  the  Baboo's  head  circar, 
an  humble  accountant,  on  fifteen  rupees  a  month.  Do 
you  perceive  that  fact  in  the  style  of  his  salutation  ? 
Hardly ;  for  the  Baboo  piously  raises  his  joined  hands 
high  above  his  head,  and,  louting  lower  than  before, 
murmurs  the  Orthodox  salutation,  NamasTcarum ! 
Yet  the  Baboo  contributed  two  thousand  rupees  in 
fireworks  to  the  last  Doorga  Pooja,  and  sent  a  hun- 
dred goats  to  the  altar ;  while  only  with  many  and  try- 
ing shifts  of  saving,  could  Mutty  Loll  afford  gold  leaf 
for  one  image,  beside  two  tomtoms  and  a  horn  to  march 
before  it  in  procession.  But  behold  the  lordly  benefi- 
cence in  Mutty  Loll's  attitude  and  gesture,  as  with 
outstretched  hands,  palms  upward,  he  greets  the  Baboo 
condescendingly  with  a  gift  of  good- will ! 

'■'■Idhur  auo,  Sirdar,  idhur  auo! — Come  hither,  Kar- 
lee,  my  gentle  bearer,  thou  of  the  good  heart,  and 
grey  moustache!  Come  hither,  and  enlighten  this 
Sahib's  ignorance ;  tell  him  why  the  Durwan  is  dis- 
dainful, as  toward  the  Baboo,  and  the  Circar  solemn." 

^^ Han,  Sahib/  That  Durwan  Ksairiye,  Soldier 
caste.  Eider  caste — feest-i-rat-i-man   (first-rate  man); 


Manioul.  287 

that  Dinwan  have  got  Rajpoot  blood,  ver-iproud,  all 
same  Sahib.  Baboo,  Merchant  caste — ver-igood  caste, 
plenty  rich,  but  not  so  proud  Durwan  caste ;  Baboo  not 
have  Rajpoot  blood,  not  have  i-sharp  i-sword,  not  have 
musiket.  Durwan  arm  all  same  tiger;  Durwan  beard 
all  same  lion  ;  Durwan  plenty  i-strong,  plenty  proud. 

*'  That  Circar — ah !  that  Mutty  Loll,  too  high  caste; 
that  Circar  Brahmin — Kooleen  Brahmin — all  same 
Sioamy  (god) ;  that  Circar  foot  all  same  Baboo  head ; 
that  Circar  shoe  all  same  Baboo  turban.  'Spose  Baboo 
not  make  that  Circar  hhote-hhote  salaam^  that  Circar 
say  curse,  that  Circar  ispeak  jou-jehannum  (go  to  hell). 
Master  underistand  i-me  ?  I  ispeftk  Master  so  Master 
know?" 

"  Very  clear,  Karlee — and  wholesome  expounding. 
But  here  comes  the  Baboo  to  speak  for  himself — Good- 
day,  Baboo!  Whither  so  fast  with  the  spanking 
Arabs  and  the  simpkin  ? — to  the  garden-house  ?" 

"  To  the  garden-house,  Sahib ;  and  the  simpkin  is 
for  two  young  English  friends  of  mine,  who  will  do 
the  garden-house  the  honor  to  make  it  their  own  for 
a  day  or  two." 


288  The  Old. 

"  Take  care,  Baboo !  take  care !  I  have  my  doubts 
as  to  the  simpkin.  They  do  say  the  orthodoxy  of 
'Young  Bengal'  men  is  none  the  better  for  beef- 
steaks and  Heidsieck ;  such  diet  does  not  become  the 
son  of  a  strict  and  straight-going  heathen.  Well  may 
the  Brahmins  groan  for  the  glaring  scandals  of  the 
new  lights;  you'll  be  marrying  widows  next,  and 
dining  at  clubs  with  fast  ensigns." 

"  Sahib,  Caste  is  God,  and  Mamoul  is  his  j^rophet. 
The  church  of  the  Churruck  post,  and  the  orgies  of 
Hooly,  is  in  no  danger  from  beef  or  Simpkin,  so 
long  as  steak  or  bottle  costs  a  man  his  inheritance ; 
and  we  of  Young  Bengal  know  too  well  how  hard  are 
the  ways  of  the  Pariah  to  try  them  for  fun.  Caste  is 
God,  and  Mamoul  is  his  prophet.  The  '  Glad  tidings 
of  Great  Joy'  your  missionaries  bring,  fall  upon  ears 
stopped  with  family  pride  and  the  family  jewels :  you 
know  that  appropriate  old  saw  in  our  proverbial  phi- 
losophy, '  What  is  the  news  of  the  day  to  a  frog  in  a 
well  ? ' — Salaam  Sahih  !  I  have  but  a  few  minutes  to 
spare,  and  the  supercargo  is  waiting  with  the  indigo 
samj^les. 


Manioul.  289 

Presently,  as  the  Cossitollali  panorama  flows  on  be- 
neath our  window,  with  all  its  bizarreness  from  the 
bazaars — its  box-wallahs,  and  its  pawn-makers,  its 
pedlars  of  toys,  its  money-changers  and  shopmen,  its 
basket-makers  and  mat-weavers  and  chattah-menders, 
its  perambulating  cobblers  and  tailors,  its  jugglers, 
gymnasts,  and  nautch-girls — its  fellows  who  feed  on 
glass  bottles,  for  the  astonishment  and  delectation  of 
the  Sahibs,  or  who,  if  you  have  such  a  thing  as  a  sheep 
about  you,  will  undertake  to  slaughter  and  skin  it  with 
their  teeth,  and  devour  it  on  the  spot — its  conjure  w\al- 
lalis,  who,  for  a  few  pice,  will  run  sharp  foils  through 
each  other's  bodies,  without  for  a  moment  disturbing 
cither  health  or  cheerfulness,  or  will  make  mangoes 
grow  under  table-cloths,  "  all  fair  and  proper,"  'while 
Master  waits — as  the  Brahmin  still  dodges  the  sha- 
dow of  the  Soodra,  and  the  Soodra  spits  upon  the 
footprint  of  the  Pariali,  the  Baboo  returns  to  his  cha- 
riot ;  the  fat  and  solemn  coachman  gathers  up  the 
reins,  the  hurkarus  assume  their  symmetrical  attitudes 
on  the  box,  the  syces  bawl,  and  the  sooas  jump. 

Just  now,  a  palkee-gharree,  cheapest  of  one-horse 


290 


The  Old. 


vehicles,  with  but  one  lialf-nalved  sjce  running  at  the 
pony's  head,  and  never  a  footman  near,  passes  the 
spanking  Arabs;  the  plain  turban  of  a  respectable 
accountant  in  the  Honorable  Company's  coal  office  at 
Garden  Eeach,  shows  between  the  Venetian  slats  of 
the  little  window ;  and  lo !  our  fine  Baboo  steps  out  of 
his  slippers,  and  standing  barefoot  in  the  common 
dust  of  Cossitollah — dust  that  has  been  churned  by 
all  the  pigs'  feet  that  ply  that  promiscuous  thorough- 
fare— humbly  touches,  first  the  vulgar  ground,  and 
then  his  elegant  turban,  murmuring  a  pious  Namas- 
karum;  for  the  respectable  accountant  in  the  Honor- 
able Company's  coal  office  is,  like  Mutty  Loll,  a  Koo- 
leen  Brahmin — only  a  little  more  so.  Caste  is  God, 
and  Mamoul  is  his  prophet ! 

At  the  gate-lodge  of  the  Baboo's  garden-house,  on 
the  Durumtollah  Eoad,  a  grey  and  withered  hag,  all 
crippled  and  leprosied,  sits  duhrna. 

What  may  that  be  ? 

Be  patient;  you  shall  know. 

"When  the  Baboo  was  as  yet  a  youth,  his  uncle  Ra- 
jinda,  the  pride  of  the  Mullicks,  died  of  cholera,  and 


Miimoiil. 


291 


the  administration  of  the  estate  devolved  upon  our 
free-thinking  Kalidas.  Of  course  there  were  mort- 
gages to  foreclose,  and  delinquent  debtors  to  stir  up, 
A  certain  small  shopkeeper,  o[  China  Bazaar,  was 
responsible  to  the  concern  for  a  few  thousand  rupees, 
wherewith  he  had  been  accommodated  by  Uncle  Ra- 
jinda,  as  a  basis  for  certain  operations  in  seersuckers 
and  castor-oil,  tliat  had  yielded  no  returns.  So  our 
Baboo,  in  a  curt  chit  (that  is,  note,  or  sheet  of  paper, 
as  near  as  a  Bengalee  can  come  to  the  word),  bade  the 
small  speculator  of  China  Bazaar  come  down  forth- 
with with  the  rupees. 

But,  behold  you  now,  "he  had  paid,"  he  said  !  "By 
the  Holy  Ganges  and  tli(^  Blessed  Cow!  by  the  turban 
of  his  father  and  the  veil  of  his  mother!  restitution 
had  been  made  long  ago,"  the  old  man  said;  and 
the  soul  of  Uncle  Rajinda,  the  })ride  of  the  Mullicks, 
had  no  reason  to  be  disquieted  for  the  rupees,  tliough 
the  seersuckers  had  been  but  vanity,  and  the  castor-oil 
vexation  of  spirit. 

"  Produce  the  documents,"  said  the  Baboo,  with  a 
business-like  impassibility  that  in  AVall  Street  would 


292  The  Old. 

have  made  him  a  great  bear ; — "  where  are  the  re 
ceipts  ?" 

"  My  Lord,  I  know  not.  Prostrating  my  unwor- 
thy turban  beneath  the  lovely  lilies  of  your  feet,  I 
s\\eQ,T  to  my  gureeh  purivar,  the  destitute-and-humble- 
protecting  lord,  by  the  Holj^  Water  and  the  Blessed 
Cow,  by  the  beard  of  my  fiither  and  the  veil  of  my 
mother,  that  I  settled  the  little  account  lonej  asfo." 

That  unhappy  speculator  in  seersuckers  and  castor- 
oil  died  in  prison,  and  a  gooroo  (that  is,  a  spiritual 
teacher),  feed  by  the  Baboo,  desolated  his  last  hour 
with  the  assurance  that  he  should  transmigrate  into 
the  bodies  of  seven  generations  of  gharree-horses,  and 
drag  feringhee  sailor-men,  in  a  state  of  beer,  from  the 
ghauts  to  the  punch-houses,  all  his  miserable  lives. 

Now  whether  or  not  the  unlucky  little  speculator 
had  in  good  faith  discharged  the  debt  will,  in  all  the 
probabilities  of  human  rights  and  wrongs,  never 
appear  this  side  of  the  Last  Trump ;  for  the  Holy 
Water  and  the  Sacred  Cow,  his  fathers  beard  and  his 
mother's  veil,  were  not  good  in  law,  the  documents 
not  forthcomino;. 


Mamoul 


29^ 


But  it  is  certain  that  liis  widow  liad  faitli  in  liis 
integrity  ;  for  at  once,  with  all  her  sorrows  on  Ikt 
head,  she  sallied  forth  in  quest  of  justice ;  and  from 
Brahmin  post  to  Sahib  pillar  she  went  crying,  "  See 
me  righted!  Against  this  hard  and  arrogant  Baboo 
let  my  wrongs  be  redressed,  or  tear  the  Evil  Eye  of 
Dookhee  the  Sorrowful,  of  Haranu  the  Lost !" 

But  utterly  in  vain ;  for  the  clamor  of  the  Hindoo 
widow,  however  bitterly  aggrieved,  is  but  a  nuisance, 
and  her  accusation  insolence.  So  in  her  pitiful  out- 
casting,  in  all  the  forlorn  loathsomeness  of  leprosy, 
and  the  shunned  squalor  of  a  cripple,  she  sat  down  at 
the  Baboo's  gate,  to  wait  for  justice  till  the  gods 
should  bestow  it — till  Siva,  the  Avenger,  should  be- 
hold her,  and  ask  "  V^'ho  has  done  this?" 

And  who  shall  challenge  her?  Who  shall  bid  her 
move  on  ^  ^famoul  has  crowned  In-r  Queen  of  Tears, 
and  her  sublime  patience  and  appealing  have  made  a 
throne  of  the  wayside  stone  on  which  she  sits;  there 
is  no  power  so  audacious  that  it  W(-)uld  give  the  word 
to  depose-  her ;  \wv  matted  gray  locks  and  her  fur- 
rowed   cheeks,    her   sunken    eyes   and    her    hungry 


294  The  Old. 

lips,  are   her  "  sacred   ashes"  of  the  high   caste  of 
Sorrow. 

The  Brahmin  averts  his  face  as  he  passes,  and  mut- 
ters, "  She  is  as  the  flower  which  is  out  of  reach — she 
is  dedicated  to  God."  That  insolent  official,  the 
Baboo's  pampered  durwan,  sees  in  her  only  Mamoul ; 
he  would  as  soon  think  of  shaving  himself  as  of  driv- 
ing her  away.  So,  as  the  Baboo  passes  in  or  out 
through  the  great  gate,  the  solemn  coachman  whips 
up  the  spanking  Arabs,  and  the  syces  bawl  louder 
than  ever,  and  Kalidas  Eamaya  Mullick  turns  away 
his  eyes.  But  for  all  that,  the  Duhrna  Woman  heaps 
dust  upon  her  head,  which  he  sees,  and  mutters  a 
weird  warning,  which  he  hears ;  and  though  the  lawn 
is  wide,  and  the  banian  topes  are  leafy,  and  a  gilded 
temple,  the  family  shrine,  stands  between,  and  the 
marble  veranda  is  spacious,  and  the  state  apartments 
remote,  they  do  say  the  shadow  of  the  Duhrna 
Woman  falls  on  the  iced  simpkin  and  the  steaks,  in 
spite  of  Young  Bengal. 


Manioul.  295 

Moolrib  i  Jcou.ih  nuicu  hijo^ 

Tazu  hit  tnzH^  non  hit  nou! 
Badue  dil  Icoosha  hidoJi, 

Tazu  hu  tazu,  nou  bu  nou  ! 
Kooah  hilt,  sheen  hu  kilwuie 
Chung  nuwaz-a-sa-ntej 
Bush  .si tan  hit  htm  itz  o,  , 

'J'azu  bu  tnzit,  noa  bu  nou  ! 

"  Son;.'slt'r  sweet,  begin  the  lay, 

Ever  sweet  antl  ever  gay  ! 
Bring  tlio  joy-inspiring  wine. 

Ever  fresh  and  ever  fine ! 
With  a  heart-alhiring  lass 
Gayly  let  the  moments  pass, 
Kisses  stealing  while  you  may, 

Ever  fresh  and  ever  gay  !" 

Now  surely  she  -who  thus  sings  should  be  beautiful, 
after  the  Hindoo  type  ; — that  is,  she  sliould  have  the 
complexion  of  chocolate  and  cream ;  "  her  face 
should  be  as  the  full  moon,  her  nose  smooth  as  a 
flute  ;  she  should  iiave  (yes  like  unto  lotoses,  and  a 
neck  like  a  pigeon's;  her  voice  should  be  soft  as  the 


296  The  Old. 

cuckoo's,  and  her  step  as  the  gait  of  a  young  elephant 
of  pure  blood."     Let  us  see. 

Alas,  no  I  She  entertains  a  set  of  lazy  bearers 
smoking  the  hubble-bubble  around  a  palanquin  as 
they  wait  for  a  fare ;  and  her  buksheesh  may  be  a 
cowry  or  two.  By  no  means  is  she  of  the  nautch- 
maidens  of  Lucknow,  who  were  wont  to  lighten  the 
hours  of  debauched  majesty,  between  the  tiger-fights 
and  the  games  of  leap-frog ;  by  no  means  is  she 
ringed  as  to  her  fingers  or  belled  as  to  her  toes  ;  and 
though  she  carries  her  music  wherever  she  goes,  she 
also  carries  a  shiny  brown  baby,  slung  in  a  canvas 
tray  between  her  shoulders. 

No  excessively  voluminous  folds  of  gold-embroi- 
dered drapery  encumber  her  supple  limbs ;  but  her 
skirts  are  of  the  scantiest  (what  Miss  Flora  Mac- 
Flimsey  would  call  skimped)^  and  pitifully  mean  as  to 
quality.  By  no  means  have  the  imperial  looms  of 
Benares  contributed  to  her  professional  costume  a  veil 
of  wondrous  fineness  and  a  Nabob's  price;  but  a 
narrow  red  strip  of  some  poor  cotton  stuff"  crosses  her 
bosom  like  a  scarf,  and  leaves  exposed  too  much  of 


M 


mioul. 


^97 


llu"  ruins  of  once  diiintier  beuutios.  A  string  of  glass 
iK'uds,  black  and  red  alternate,  arc  all  lier  jewels — 
save  one  silver  bodkin,  all  foiloi-ii,  in  her  hair,  and  a 
ring  of  thin  gold  wire  piercing  the  right  nostril,  and, 
Avith  an  effect  completely  deforming,  encircling  the 
lips.  Her  teeth  and  nails  are  deeply  stained,  and  the 
darkness  of  her  eyes  is  enhanced  by  artificial  shadows. 
And  so,  while  that  baby-Tantalus,  catching  glimpses 
over  the  unveiled  shoulder  of  the  Micawberian  fount 
lie  cannot  reach,  stretches  his  little  brown  arms,  bites, 
kicks,  and  squalls — wdiile  a  small  female  apprentice, 
by  wa}'  of  chorus,  in  costume  and  gesture  absurdly 
caricaturing  her  />;v';/ia  donna  (a  sort  of  Cossitollah 
Marchioness,  indeed,  for  some  Dick  Swiveller  of  the 
Sahibs),  shufilcs  rhenmatieally  with  her  feet,  or  impo- 
tently  dislocates  her  slender  arms,  or  pounds  insanely 
on  a  cracked  tomtom,  or  jangles  her  clumsy  cymbals, 
while  the  squatting  bearers  cry,  "  Wait  icah  !  "  and 
clap  their  sweaty  hands — our  poor  old  glee-niaidcu 
of  Cossitollah  strums  her  two-stringed  guitar,  letting 
the  baby  slide,  and  creaks  corkscrewishly  her  Chota, 
chota  natchelee: — 


298  The  Old. 

Badi  subd  choo  hoo/j  zuree 
Bur  suri  Jcooe  an  puree, 
Qussue  Hafiz  vsh  hifju, 

Tazu  hu  iazu,  nou  bu  noul 

"  Zephyrs,  while  you  gently  move 
By  the  mansion  of  my  love, 
Softly  Hafiz'  strains  repeat, 

Ever  new  and  ever  sweet!" 

Heaven  save  the  key  ! 

"  Ka  munkta^    Bearer  ? — what    is    it,    my  gentle 
Karlee  ?" 

"  Ghittee^  Sahib  ! — chittee  for  Master." 
"  Note,  hey  ?  from  whom  ?  let  us  see  !" 
Pink  paper — scented  with  sandal- wood,  pah  ! — em- 
bossed,   too,    with  cornucopias  in  the  corners — seal 
motto,  Qui  /u'.^C'Who  waits?") — denoting  that  the 
bearer  is  to  bring  an  answer.     Now  for  the  inside : — ■ 

"  Devoted  ajstd  Kespectful  Sie: — 

"  Insured  of  your  pitiful  conduct,  your  obsequious 


Manioiil.  299 

suppliant,  an  eleemosynary  lady  of  decrepit  widmv- 
liood,  throws  herself  at  y(jur  Excellency's  mercy  feet 
witli  two  imbecile  childrcns  of  various  denominations. 
For  our  Heavenly  Father's  sake,  if  not  inconvenient 
— which  wc  have  been  beneficently  bereaved  of  other 
paternal  description — we  humbly  present  our  implora- 
tions  to  your  munificent  Excellency,  if  any  small  change, 
to  bestow  the  same,  which  it  will  be  eternally  acceptable 
to  said  eleemosynary  widow  of  late  Colonel  with  dis- 
tinguished medal  in  Honorable  Service,  deceased  of 
cholera,  which  it  was  sudden  attacks  and  us  pretty 
near  destitute.  Therefore,  hoping  your  munificent 
and  respectable  Excellency  will  not  order,  being 
scornful,  your  pitiful  Excellency's  durwau  to  disperse 
us ;  but  five  rupees,  which  nothing  to  your  Excel- 
lency's regards,  and  our  tenacious  gratitude  never 
forget ;  but  kissing  Excellency's  hands  on  indifferent 
occasions,  and  throwing  at  mercy  feet  with  two  imbe- 
cile offsprings  of  different  denominations,  I  shall  ever 
pray,  &c. 

"  Mrs.  Diana,  Tiikodosia,  Comfort,  Greex. 
r.  S.     If  not  five  rupees,  two  rupees  five  annas, 


tnt 


300 


The  Old. 


in  name  of  Excellency's  exalted  mother,  if  quite  con- 
venient." 

There  now !  for  an  imposing  structure  in  the  florid 
style  of  half-caste  begging-letters,  Mrs.  Diana  Theo- 
dosia  Comfort  Green  flatters  herself  that  is  hard  to 
beat. 

"  '  Qui  hiV — Karlee,  who  is  at  the  gate?" 

'■'■Mem  Sahib f  one  chee-chee  woman  wanch  look 
see  Master,  ispeakee  Master  buksheesh  give ;  paunch 
hutcha  have  got." 

^^ Paunch  hutcha!— five  children!  why,  Karlee, 
there  are  but  two  here.  But  remembering,  I  sup- 
pose, that  my  Excellency  has  but  two  '  mercy  feet,' 
and  with  an  eye  to  symmetry  in  the  arrangement  of 
the  grand  tableau  of  which  she  proposes  to  make  me 
the  central  figure,  she  has  made  it  two  '  imbecile  off- 
springs' for  the  looks  of  the  thing.  Do  you  know 
her,  Karlee?" 

^^Han,  Sahib!  too  much  quentence  have  got  that 
chee-chee  woman;  that  chee-chee  woman  all  same 
dam  iscamp ;  paunch  butcha  not  have  got, — one  but- 


Mamoul.  301 

cha  not  have  got.     Master  not  give  buksheesb;  no 
good  that  woman,  Karlcc  think." 

"  Very  well,  old  man ;  send  her  away ;  tell  the 
durwan  to  disperse  Mrs.  Diana  Theodosia  Comfort 
Green;  but  let  him  not  insult  her  decrepit  widow- 
hood, nor  alarm  her  imbecile  offsprings  of  various 
denominations.  For  the  '  Eurasian'  is  a  great  insti- 
tution, without  which  polkas  at  Coolee  Bazaar  were 
not,  nor  pic-nics  dansanies  at  Chandernagore." 


But  now  to  tifhn.  I  smell  a  smell  of  curried 
prawns,  and  the  first  mangoes  of  the  season  are  fra- 
grant. Buxsoo,  the  khansamah,  has  cooled  the  ish- 
erry-shrob,  as  he  calls  the  "green  seal,"  and  the  kit- 
mudgars  are  crying,  "  Tiffin,  Sahib  r  The  Mamoul 
of  meal-time  knows  no  caste  or  country. 


Bur  zi  hyat  ley  looree  I 
Our  nu  moodam,  mi  kooroe! 
Badu  hi  koor  hu  yadi  o, 

Taz^u  hu  iazu,  iiou  hu  nouf 


302 


The  Old. 

'  Gentle  boy,  whose  silver  feet 
Nimbly  move  to  cadence  sweet, 
Fill  us  quick  the  generous  wine, 
Ever  fresh  and  ever  fine  I" 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  TIFFIN  OF  TALK 

LITTLE   KIUSAJKE — THE   SIONKEY-GOD. 

llow  runs  the  Hindoo  saw?  "Are  we  not  to 
milk  when  there  is  a  cow?"  "When  India  is  giving 
down  generous  streams  of  paragraphy  to  all  the 
greedy  buckets  of  the  press,  shall  I  not  hold  my 
pretty  pail  under?  As  my  genial  young  friend, 
Ensign  Isnob,  of  the  "  Sappies  and  Minors,"  would 
say — "  I  believe  you,  me  boy  !" 

Then  come  with  me  to  Cossitollah,  and  we'll  have  a 
tiffin  of  talk;  some  cloves  of  adventure,  with  a 
capsicum  or  two  of  tragic  story,  shall  stand  for  the 
curry  ;  the  customs  of  the  country  may  represent  the 
familiar  rice ;  a  whiff  of  freshness  and  fragrance  from 
the  Mofussil  will  be  as  the  mangoes  and  the  dorians  ; 
in  the  piquancy  and  grotesqueness  of  the  first  pure 
Orientalism  that  may  come  to  hand  we  shall  recognise 


304  The  Old. 

tlie  curious  chow-cliow  of  the  chutney ;    and  as  for 
the  beer — why,  we  will  be  the  beer  ourselves. 

"  Kitmudgar,  remove  that  scorj)ion  from  the  punka, 
before  it  drops  into  the  Sahib's  plate. — Hold,  mis- 
creant !  who  told  you  to  kill  it? 

"  '  Take  it  up  tenderly, 
Lift  it  with  care — 
Fashioned  so  slenderly, 
Young  and  so  fair  I' 

"  For  know,  O  Kitmudgar,  that  there  is  one  beauty 
of  women,  and  another  beauty  of  scorpions ;  and  if 
the  beauty  of  scorpions  be  to  thee  as  the  ugliness  of 
women,  the  fault  is  in  thy  godless  eye. 

"  '  Only  a  crawling  kaffir,'  sayest  thou,  0  heathen  1 
and  straightway  goest  about  to  stick  a  fork  into  a 
political  symbol?  Yerily,  the  hapless  wretch  shall 
be  sacrificed  unto  Agnee,  god  of  Fire,  that  a  timely 
warning  may  enter  into  thy  purblind  soul ! 

"  Here,  take  this  bottle  of  brandy — ^iSahib  brandy,' 
you  perceive — genuine  old  'London  Dock' — and 
pour  a  cordon  of  ardent  spirits  on  the  table,  to  weave 


A  'I'illin  ot   'I'lilk.  305 

a  circle  round  liiia  thrice'  So!  that's  for  British 
Ascendcucy  I 

"  Now  drop  your  subjugated  brother  into  the  midst 
thereof.  See  how,  in  his  senseless,  drunken  rage,  he 
wriggles  and  squirms — then  desperately  dashes,  and 
venomously  snaps  1     That's  Indian  Revolt ! 

"  Quickly,  now  1  light  the  train ;  so  1 — What  tiiink 
you  of  Anglo-Saxon  Power  and  hereditary  pride  ? 

"  Oho,  my  Kitmudgar  1  you  begin  to  understand  ! 
— the  living  fable  is  not  lost  on  you ! 

"But  watch  your  Great  Mogul!  Barrackpore, 
Meerut,  Cawnpore,  Lucknow,  Delhi— five  imposing 
plunges,  but  impotent ;  for  at  every  point  thp  Sahib's 
fatal  fire,  fire,  fire,  fire,  fire! — insurmountable,  all-sub- 
duing 'destiny!' 

"Maimed,  discomfited,  dismayed,  shivering,  at 
wits'  end,  a  crippled  wriggler,  in  the  midst  of 
exulting  flames — there  lies  your  Great  Mogul  1 

"But  see! — the  Scorpion,  brave  wretch!  with  a 
gladiator's  fortitude,  loosens  the  shameful  coil  in 
which  its  last  agonies  have  twisted  it,  fiercely  erects 
its  head  once  more,  lashes   defiantly  with    its    tail. 


3o6  The  Old. 

and  then  —  click  !  click  !  click  ! — stings  itself  to 
death. 

"And  with  that  ends  our  figure  of  speech;  for 
only  the  pitifulness  of  the  defeat  is  the  Great  Mo- 
gul's ;  the  sublimity  of  the  suicide  is  proper  to 
the  scorpion  alone. 

"  Take  away  the  fable,  Kitraudgar  !" 

I  lay  in  bed  this  morning  half  an  hour  after  the 
sun  had  risen,  watching  my  Parsee  neighbor  on  his 
house-top,  and  thereby  lost  my  drive  on  the  Esplanade. 
But  I  console  myself  with  imagining  that  the  pretty 
Chee-chee  spinster  who  comes  every  morning  from 
Eaneemoody  Grully  in  a  green  tonjon,  and  makes 
romantic  eyes  at  me  through  the  silk  curtains,  missed 
the  New  York  gentleman  with  the  gray  moustache, 
and  was  lonesome. 

My  Parsee  neighbor  is  quite  as  fat,  but  by  no  means 
as  saucy,  as  ever.  Last  week  his  youngest  boy 
died — little  Kirsajee  Jamsajee  Bonnarjee,  a  contem- 
plative young  fire- worshipper,  with  eyes  as  profound 
as  the  philosophy  l1  Zoroaster.     I  saw  the  dismal 


A  Tiiliii  ot  Talk.  307 

procession  depart  from  the  house,  and  my  heart  ached 
for  the  little  Gheber. 

Four  awful  creatures,  that  were  like  ghosts,  clad  all 
in  white,  solemnly  dumb  and  veiled,  bore  him  away 
on  an  iron  bier.  When  they  arrived  at  the  draw- 
bridge, great  sheets  of  copper  were  spread  before 
them,  and  they  crossed  upon  those ;  for  wood  is 
sacred  to  their  adored  Element,  and  the  touch  of 
"  them  on  whose  shoulders  the  dead  doth  ride"  would 
pollute  it. 

So  they  carried  little  Kirsajee  to  Golgotha,  their 
Place  of  Skulls,  wliich  is  a  dreary,  treeless  field, 
encompassed  round  about  with  a  blank  wall ;  and 
they  laid  him  naked  in  a  stone  trough  on  the  edge  of 
a  great  pit,  and  left  him  there,  betaking  them,  still 
solemnly  veiled  and  mute,  to  their  homes  again. 

All  but  my  Parsce  neighbor ;  he  went  and  sat  liiiu 
down,  like  Hagar  in  the  wilderness,  over  against  the 
dead  Kirsajee,  "  a  good  way  off,  as  it  were  a  bow-shot;" 
and  he  lifted  up  his  voice,  and  wept  for  the  lad  that 
was  dead.  But  still  he  waited  there,  till  the  crows 
and  the  Brahminec  kites  should  come  to  perform  the 


3o8  The  Old. 

last  liorrid  rites  ;  for  to  Parsee  custom  tlie  sepulture 
most  becoming  to  men,  most  acceptable  to  God,  is 
in  tlie  stomaclis  of  the  fowls  of  tlie  air,  in  tlie  craws 
of  ghoulish  vultures  and  sacrilegious  crows. 

And  presently  there  came  a  great  Pondicherrj  eagle, 
snifl&ng  the  feast  from  afar ;  and  he  came  alone. 
Swiftly  sailing,  poised  on  tranquil  wings,  he  circled 
over  the  "Tower  of  Silence,"  circle  within  circle, 
circle  below  circle,  over  the  child  sleeping  naked,  over 
the  fiither  watching  veiled. 

One  moment  he  flutters,  as  for  a  foot-hold  on  the 
pinnacle  of  his  purpose ;  then — 

"  Like  a  thunderbolt  he  falls." 

Sitting  solemnly  on  the  breast  of  the  dead  boy,  the 
"  grim,  ungainly,  gaunt,  and  ominous  bird"  peers 
with   sidelong  glance   into   his   face,   gloating;    and 

then 

Immediately  my  Parsee  neighbor  uprises  in  his 
place,  throws  aside  his  veil,  and,  shouting,  runs  for- 
ward. The  Pondicherry  eagle  soars  screaming  to  the 
clouds,  and  the  sorrow-stricken  Gheber  bends  over 


A  Tillin  ot   Talk.  309 

llu;  di'ur  corpse.  Is  it  Heaven  or  IIcU  ?  tJie  rlijhl  eye 
or  thit  h:j\  ?     Aliis,  tlic  Icll ! 

He  beats  his  breast,  lie  flills  upon  Lis  knees,  and 
cries  with  frantic  gestures  to  the  setting  Sun ;  Ijut  tlie 
sullen  god  only  draws  a  cloud  before  his  face,  and 
leaves  his  poor  worshipper  to  despair.  Then  my 
Parsee  neighbor  arises  and  girds  up  his  loins,  muffles 
his  haggard  face  more  closely  than  before,  and  with 
dishevelled  beard,  and  chin  sadly  sunk  upon  his 
breast,  turning  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the 
left,  and  meeting  no  man's  gaze,  wends  silently 
homeward. 

To-morrow  he  will  take  his  wife  and  go  to  Bombay, 
to  feed  with  consecrated  sandal-wood  and  oil  the 
Sacred  Flame  the  Magi  brought  from  Persia,  when 
they  were  driven  thence  with  all  their  people  to 
(")rnniz.  But  the  name  of  little  Kirsajec  sliall  cross 
their  lips  no  more ;  his  memory  is  a  forbidden  thing 
in  the  household ;  he  is  as  if  he  never  had  been. 

When  Brahminee  kite,  and  adjutant,  and  white- 
breasted  crow  have  done  their  ghoulish  oflicc  on  little 
Kirsajce,  his  bones  shall  lie  bleaching  under  the  piti- 


310  The  Old. 

less  eye  of  his  people's  blazing  god,  till  the  rains  come, 
and  fill  the  pit,  and  carry  the  waste  of  Gheber  skele- 
tons by  subterraneous  sewers  down  to  the  sea.  But 
the  Pondicherry  eagle  took  the  left  eye  first;  wherefore 
the  most  pious  deeds  of  merit,  to  be  performed  by  my 
Parsee  neighbor — even  a  hospital  for  maimed  dogs, 
or  feeding  the  Sacred  Flame  with  great  store  of 
sandal-wood  and  precious  gums,  or  tilling  the  earth 
with  a  diligence  equivalent  to  the  efficacy  of  ten  thou- 
sand prayers — can  hardly  suffice  to  save  the  soul  of 
little  Kirsajee,  the  Forbidden  ! 

There  is  a  blood-feud  of  three  months'  standing 
between  two  members  of  our  household. 

One  day,  Lootee,  the  chuprassey's  cat,  took  Tchoop, 
the  khansamah's  monkey,  unawares,  as  he  was  sun- 
ning himself  on  the  house-top,  and  with  scratching 
and  spitting,  sudden  and  furious,  so  startled  him,  that 
he  threw  himself  over  the  parapet  into  the  crowded 
Cossitollah,  and  would  have  been  killed  by  the  fidl, 
had  he  not  chanced  to  alight  on  the  voluminous  tur- 
ban of  a  dandy  hurkaru  from  the  Mint.     As  it  was, 


A  Tiffin   of  Talk.  31 1 

0110  of  liis  arms  sustained  a  compound  fracture,  and 
liis  nrrves  sufforcd  so  frightful  a  shock,  that  it  ^va.s 
only  by  a  miracle  of  surgery,  and  the  most  patient 
nnrsinET,  that  he  was  ever  restored  to  his  wonted  agility 
and  sagacity. 

But  the  day  of  retribution  has  arrived ;  Lootcc  lias 
had  kittens.  There  were  five  of  them  in  the  original 
litter;  Ijut  only  one  remains.  Tchoop  to.ssed  two  of 
them  from  the  house-top  when  no  dandy  hurkaru 
from  the  Mint  was  below  to  soften  the  fall ;  the  old 
ndjntant-biri.l,  that  for  three  years  has  stood  on  one 
log  on  the  Parsee's  godown,  gobbled  up  another  as  it 
lav  choked  in  the  south  verandah;  while  the  dismayed 
sirdar  fouiultlie  head  of  a  fourth  jammed  inextricably 
in  the  neck  of  his  sacred  lotah,  wherewith  he  per- 
forms his  pious  ablutions  every  morning  at  the  ghaut. 

On  the  other  hand,  Lootee  has  made  prize  of  about 
three  inches  of  Tchoop's  tail,  and  displays  it  all  over 
the  house  for  a  trophy.  It  is  a  blood-feud,  fierce  and 
implacable  as  any  Ix-tween  Afghans,  and  there's  no 
knowing  where  it  will  all  end. 

In  Europe  the  monkey  is  a  cynic,  in  South  Ame- 


T12  The  Old. 

rica  an  overworked  slave,  in  Africa  a  citizen,  but  in 
India  an  imp — I  mean  to  the  eye  of  the  Western 
stranger,  for  in  the  estimation  of  the  native  he  is 
mythologically  a  demigod,  and  socially  a  guest.  At 
Ahmedabad,  the  capital  of  Gruzerat,  there  are  certainly 
two — Mr.  De  Ward  says  three — hospitals  for  sick  and 
lame  monkeys,  who  are  therein  provided  with  salaried 
physicians,  apothecaries,  and  nurses. 

In  the  famous  Hindoo  epic,  the  "  Kamayana"  of 
Valmiek, — "  by  singing  and  hearing  which  continu- 
ally a  man  may  attain  to  the  highest  state  of  enjoy- 
ment, and  be  shortly  admitted  to  fraternit}^  with 
the  gods," — the  exploits  of  Hoonamunta,  the  Divine 
Monke}^,  are  gravely  related,  with  a  dramatic  force 
and  figurativeness  that  hold  a  street  audience  spell- 
bound ;  but  to  the  European  imagination  the  childish 
drollery  of  the  plot  is  irresistible. 

Boodhir,  the  Earth,  was  beset  by  giants,  demons, 
and  chimeras  dire ;  so  she  besought  Vislmu,  with  many 
tears,  and  vows  of  peculiar  adoration,  to  put  forth  his 
streno-th  of  arms  and  arts  against  her  abominable  tor- 
mentors,  and  i-out  them  utterly.     The  god  was  gra- 


A  'I1i}in   ot'  Talk.  31  -^ 

cious ;  whence  liis  nine  avatars,  or  incarnations — as 
iisli,  as  tortoise,  as  boar,  as  man-lion,  as  dwarf  IJrali- 
min,  as  Pursuram — tlie  l^ralmiin-warrior  wIkj  ovcr- 
llirew  the  Kshatriya,  or  soldier-caste;  the  eighth 
avatar  appeared  in  the  person  of  Krislnia,  and  tlie 
ninth  in  that  of  Boodh. 

But  the  seventh  incarnation  was  the  avatar  of 
Bama,  and  it  is  this  that  the  "  Ramayana"  celebrates. 

Vishnu  proceeds  to  be  born  unto  Doosurath,  King 
of  Ayodliya  (Oude),  as  the  Prince  Rama,  or  Ramchun- 
(Ira.  Nothing  remarkable  occurs  thereupon  until 
Rama  has  attained  the  marriai^eable  age,  when  he 
espouses  Seeta,  daughter  of  the  King  of  Mithili. 

Immediately  old  Mrs.  Mithili,  our  hero's  mother- 
in-law,  being  of  an  intriguing  turn  of  mind,  api)lies 
herself  to  the  amiable  task  of  worrying  the  poor  oM 
Iving  of  Ayodhya  out  of  his  crown  or  his  life;  and 
so  well  does  she  succeed,  that  Doosurath,  lor  the  sake 
of  peace  and  qviietness,  would  fain  abdicate  in  favor 
of  his  son. 

But  Rama  will  have  none  of  his  royalty.  Was  it 
lor  ])ort,'il  kings  and  niisehief-making  mothers-in-law, 


314  The  Old. 

he  asks,  speaking  with  the  ante-natal  memories  of 
Yishnii,  that  he  came  among  the  sons  of  men  ?  Not 
at  all !  he  has  a  mission,  and  he  bides  his  time.  For 
the  present  he  will  take  his  wife  Seeta,  whose  will  is 
his,  and  go  out  into  the  wilderness,  there  to  build  him 
a  hut  of  bamboos  and  banian-boughs  and  palmyra- 
leaves,  and  be — Seeta  and  he — two  jolly  yogees,  that 
is,  religious  gypsies — living  on  grass-roots,  wild  rice, 
and  white  ants,  and  being  dirty  and  devout  to  their 
hearts'  content. 

So  they  went;  and  for  a  little  while  they  enjoyed, 
undisturbed,  their  yogeeish  ideas  of  a  good  time. 
But  by-and-by  tidings  came  to  Rawunna — the  giant 
with  ten  heads  and  twice  ten  arms,  that  was  King  of 
Lunka  (Ceylon) — of  the  plots  of  Mrs.  Mithili,  the  dis- 
gust of  old  Doosurath,  the  distraction  of  the  kingdom 
of  Ayodhya,  and  the  whimsical  adventure  of  Rama 
and  Seeta. 

And  immediately  Rawunna,  the  giant,  is  seized  in 
all  his  heads  and  arms  with  a  great  longing  to  know 
what  manner  of  man  this  Rama  may  be,  that  he 
should  prefer  the  yogee's  breech-cloth  to  the  royal 


A    riflin  of  l\ilk. 


vs 


purple,  a  hut  of  leaves,  with  only  his  Seeta,  to  a 
haivni  of  a  hundivd  wives,  white  ants  and  paddy  to 
the  white  eamel's  flesh  and  golden  partridges  of  Ayod- 
hya's  imperial  repasts.  Especially  is  he  curious  as  to 
the  charms  of  Seeta,  as  to  the  mighty  magic  where- 
withal she  renders  monogamy  acceptable  to  an  Ayod- 
hyan  prince. 

By  Indra!  he  will  see  for  himself!  So,  pleading 
exhaustion  from  the  cares  of  state,  and  ten  headaches 
of  trouble  and  dyspepsia,  he  announces  his  intention 
to  make  an  excursion  a  few  hundred  coss  into  the 
country  for  the  benefit  of  his  health  ;  and  taking 
twenty  carpet-bags  in  his  liands,  he  sets  out,  in  his 
monstrous  way,  for  Ayodhya,  leaving  his  kingdom  in 
the  care  of  a  blue  dwarf  with  an  eye  in  the  back  of 
his  neck. 

With  seven-coss  strides  he  comes  to  Ayodhya, 
and  straightway  finds  the  banian  hut  in  the  forest, 
where  Rama  dwells  with  Seeta  in  the  devout  dirtiness 
of  their  jolly  yogeery. 

The  god  has  gone  abroad  in  search  of  a  dinner,  and 
is  over  the  hills  to  the  sandv  nullahs,  wlicre  the  wliife 


3i6  The  Old. 

ants  are  fattest ;  wliile  that  greasy  Joan,  Seeta,  "  dotli 
keel  the  pot"  at  home. 

Then  Eawunna,  the  giant,  assuming  the  shape  of  a 
pilgrim  yogee  rolling  to  the  Caves  of  Ellora — with 
Grayntree,  the  mystical  text,  on  his  lips,  and  the  sha- 
dow of  Siva's  beard  in  his  sonl — rolls  to  Eama's 
door,  and  cries,  "  Alms,  alms !  in  the  name  of  the 
Destroyer!" 

And  Seeta  comes  forth  with  water  in  a  palm-leaf, 
and  grass-roots  in  the  fold  of  her  saree ;  and  when 
she  beholds  the  false  yogee  her  heart  blooms  with 
pity,  so  that  her  smile  is  as  the  alighting  of  butterflies, 
and  her  voice  as  the  rustling  of  roses. 

But,  behold  you,  as  she  bends  over  the  prostrate 
yogee,  and,  saying  "  Drink  from  the  cup  of  Yishnu!" 
offers  the  crisp  leaf  to  his  dusty  lips,  a  great  spasm  of 
desire  impels  the  impostor ;  and,  flinging  off  the 
yogee,  he  leaps  erect — Eawunna,  the  Abhorred  ! 

With  ten  mouths  he  kisses  her  ;  with  twenty  arms 
he  clasps  her ;  and  away,  away  to  Lunka !  while 
yet  poor  Seeta  gasps  with  fear. 

When  Eama  returned  and  found  no  Seeta,  his  soul 


A   Tiffin  of  T:ilk. 


3»7 


was  seized  with  a  iiiigbty  horror;  and  a  blanknoss, 
like  unto  tlic  mystery  of  Brahm,  fell  iii)on  his  heart. 
He  shed  not  a  tear,  l)ut  the  sky  wc])t  floods  ;  he 
uttered  not  a  groan,  but  Earth  shook  from  her  cen- 
tre, and  the  mountains  fell  on  their  faces.  But  Rama, 
stupified,  stood  stock-still  where  he  was  stricken,  and 
stared,  till  his  eyelids  stiffened,  at  the  desolate  hut,  at 
the  desolate  hearth. 

Then  all  the  angels  in  heaven,  who  had  witnessed 
the  crime  of  Rawunna,  and  his  flight,  passed  into  the 
forms  of  monkeys;  and  a  million  of  them  made  a 
monkey  chain,  that  the  rest  of  the  celestial  host  might 
descend  into  the  banian-groves  of  Ayodhya.  The 
tails  glide  swiflly  through  each  glowing  hand,  and 
quick  as  lightning  on  the  trees  they  stand. 

And  Hoonamunta,  their  chief,  prostrated  himself 
before  Rama,  and  said,  "Behold,  my  Lord,  we  are 
here !  I  and  all  my  host  are  yours — command  us  !" 

But  Rama  spake  not;  he  only  stood  where  he  was 
stricken,  and  stared  at  his  desolation. 

Then  Hoonamunta  turned  him  to  his  host,  and  said, 
"  Bide  here  till  I  come,  and  be  silent ;  break  not  the 


31 8  The  Old. 

quiet  of  divine  sorrow."  And  lie  went  forth  with 
mighty  bounds. 

That  night  he  came  to  Lunka.  But  the  city  slept ; 
if  Seeta  yet  lived,  she,  too,  was  silent  ^  no  cry  of  sor- 
row rose  on  the  night ;  no  stir,  as  of  an  unusual  event, 
disturbed  the  stillness  and  the  gloom. 

So  Hoonamunta  took  u^Don  himself  the  form  of  a  rat, 
and  sped  nimbly  through  the  huts  of  dwarfs  and  the 
towers  of  giants,  through  the  hiding-places  of  misery 
and  the  high  seats  of  power,  through  the  places  of 
trouble  and  the  places  of  ease ;  till  at  last  he  came  to 
an  ivory  dome,  hard  by  the  silver  palace  of  Kawunna, 
the  Monstrous;  and  there  lay  Seeta,  buried  in  a  pro- 
found trance  of  despair. 

Hoonamunta  bit,  very  tenderly,  her  slender  white 
finger ;  but  she  stirred  not,  she  made  no  sign. 

Then  he  whispered  softly  in  her  ear  "  Eama  comes!" 
and  Seeta  started  from  her  death-sleep,  and  sat  erect ; 
her  eyes  were  open,  and  she  cried,  "  My  Lord,  I  am 
here !  " 

So  Hoonamunta  spake  to  her,  bidding  her  be  of 
good  cheer,  for  Brahm  was  with  her,  and  the  Omni- 


A  TiOln  of  Talk. 


3»9 


potent  Three — bade  her  be  of  good  heart  and  wait. 
And  Seeta's  smile  was  us  tlic  alighting  of  many  butter- 
flies, and  her  voice  of  murniurcd  joy  was  as  the  rus- 
tling of  all  the  roses  of  Ayodhyx 

Then  Hoonamunta  took  counsel  with  his  cunning ; 
and  he  said  unto  himself,  "  I  will  arouse  the  sleepers ; 
I  will  take  the  strength  of  the  city ;  I  will  count  the 
heads  of  Rawunna,  and  the  arms  of  him." 

So  straightway  he  resumed  his  monkey  shape,  and 
went  forth  into  the  streets,  by  the  tanks  and  through 
the  bazaars,  among  the  places  of  the  oppressed  and  the 
places  of  the  powerful. 

And  he  bit  the  cars  of  the  Pariah  dogs,  so  lliat  they 
howled  ;  he  twisted  the  tails  of  the  Brahmin  bulls,  so 
that  they  rushed,  bellowing,  down  to  the  ghauts;  he 
plucked  the  beards  of  gorged  adjutants,  till  they 
snapped  their  great  beaks  with  a  terrible  clatter. 

lie  made  a  great  splashing  in  the  tanks;  he  ran 
through  the  bazaars,  banging  the  gongs  of  the  bell- 
makers,  and  smashing  the  brittle  wares  of  the  potters; 
he  tore  holes  in  the  roofs  of  houses,  and  threw  down 
tiles  upon  them  that   were   buried   in   slumber;  ho 


320  The  Old. 

cried  witli  a  loud  voice,  "  Siva,  Siva,  the  Destroyer, 
Cometh  I" 

So  that  the  city  awoke  with  a  great  outcry  and  a 
din,  with  all  its  torches  and  all  its  dogs.  And  the 
multitude  filled  the  streets,  and  the  compounds,  and 
the  open  places  round  about  the  tanks ;  and  all  cried, 
"Siva,  Siva!" 

But  when  they  beheld  Hoonamunta,  how  he  tore 
off  roofs,  and  pelted  them  with  tiles — ^how  he  climbed 
to  the  tops  of  pagodas,  and  jangled  the  sacred  bells — 
how  he  laid  his  shoulder  to  the  city  walls  and  over- 
threw them,  so  that  the  noise  of  their  fall  was  as  the 
roar  of  the  breakers  on  the  far-off  coast  of  Lunka 
when  the  Typhoon  blows — then  they  cried,  "A 
demon  !  a  fiend  from  the  halls  of  Yama ! "  and  they 
gave  chase  with  a  mighty  uproar — the  gooroos,  and 
the  y ogees,  and  the  jugglers  going  first. 

Then  Hoonamunta  took  counsel  with  his  cunning ; 
and  he  came  down  and  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  angry 
people,  and  asked,  "  What  would  you  with  me  ?  and 
where  is  this  demon  you  pursue  ?  " 

But  they  cried,  "Hear  him,  how  he  mocks  us!  Hear 


A  Tiffin  of  Talk.  321 

him,  how  he  flouts  us!"  and  they  dragged  him  into 
the  presence  of  Kawunna,  the  king. 

And  when  the  giant  would  have  questioned  liim, 
who  he  was,  and  whence  he  came,  and  what  his  mis- 
sion, he  only  mocked,  and  mimicked  the  fee-faw-fum- 
ness  of  Rawunna's  tones,  and  said,  "Lo!  tb is  beggar 
goes  a-foot,  but  his  words  ride  in  a  palanquin ! " 

And  the  king  said,  "  I  have  been  foolish,  I  bavc 
been  weak,  to  waste  words  on  this  kaifir.  Am  not  I 
a  mighty  monarch?  Am  not  I  a  terrible  giant?  Let 
him  be  cast  out  1 " 

And  again  Hoonamunta  mocked  him,  saying,  "His 
insanity  is  past!  fetch  him  the  rice-pounder  that  he 
may  gird  himself!  fetch  him  the  gong  that  he  may 
cover  his  feet!" 

And  Hoonamunta  would  have  sat  on  the  throne,  on 
Eawunna's  right  hand ;  but  Rawunna  thrust  him  ofl", 
and  cursed  him. 

So  Hoonamunta  took  his  tail  in  his  hand,  and 
pulled  and  pulled ;  and  the  tail  grew,  and  grew — a 
fathom,  a  furlong,  a  whole  coss. 

And  Hoonamunta  coiled  it  on  the  floor,  a  lofty  coil. 


322  The  Old. 

on  tlie  right  hand  of  the  throne,  higher  and  higher, 
till  it  overlooked  the  golden  cushion  of  the  king ;  and 
Hoonamunta  laughed. 

Then  Rawunna  turned  him  to  his  councillors,  and 
said,  "What  shall  we  do  with  this  audacious  fellow?" 

And  with  one  voice  all  the  councillors  cried,  "Burn 
his  tremendous  tail ! " 

And  the  king  commanded : 

Let  all  the  dwarfs  of  Lunka 

Bring  rags  from  near  and  far ; 
Call  all  the  dwarfs  of  Lunka 

To  soak  them  well  in  tar  I " 

So  they  went  and  brought  as  many  rags  as  ten 
strong  giants  could  lift,  and  a  thousand  niaunds  of 
tar. 

And  they  soaked  the  rags  in  the  tar,  even  as  Ra- 
wunna had  commanded,  and  bound  them  all  at  once  on 
the  tremendous  tail  of  Hoonamunta. 

And  when  they  had  done  this,  the  king  said,  "  Lead 
him  forth,  and  light  him !  " 

And  they  led  him  forth  into  the  great  Midaun,  hard 


A  Tillin  of    'l':ilk.  323 

by  the  triple  pagoda;  and  they  lighted  his  tail  with 
a  torch.  And  immediately  the  flames  leaped  to  the 
skies,  and  the  smoke  filled  all  the  city. 

Then  Iloonamunta  broke  away  from  his  captors, 
and  with  a  shrill  laugh  started  on  his  fiery  race — over 
house-tops  and  hay -ricks,  through  close  bazaars  and 
dry  rice-fields,  through  the  porticoes  of  palaces  and 
the  })orches  of  pagodas — kindling  a  roaring  confla- 
gration as  he  went 

And  all  the  people  pursued  him,  screaming  with 
fear,  im])loring  mercy,  imploring  pardon,  crying, 
"Spare  us,  and  we  will  make  you  our  high-priest ! 
Spare  us,  and  you  shall  be  our  king!  " 

But  Hoonamunta  stayed  not,  till,  having  laid  half  the 
city  in  flames,  he  ascended  to  the  top  of  a  lofty  tower 
to  survey  his  work  with  satisfaction. 

Thither  the  great  men  of  Lunka  followed  him — 
the  princes  and  the  Brahmins  and  the  victorious 
chieftains,  the  strong  giants  and  the  cunning  dwarfs. 

And  when  they  were  all  gathered  underneath  the 
U)wor,  and  in  the  porch  of  it,  he  shook  it  till  it  lell, 
and  crushed  a  thousand  of  the  iirst  citizens. 


324  The  Old. 

Then  Hoonamunta  sped  awaj  northward  to  Ayod- 
hya,  extinguishing  his  tail  in  the  sea  as  lie  went. 

And  when  he  came  to  where  his  army  lay,  he  found 
them  all  waiting  in  silence.  "When  he  entered  the 
hut  of  Eama,  the  bereaved  one  still  lay  on  his  face. 
But  Hoonamunta  s]3ake  softly  in  his  ear  :  "  My  Lord, 
arise !  for  Seeta  calls  you,  and  her  heart  sickens  within 
her  that  you  come  not !" 

Immediately  Kama  uprose,  and  stood  erect,  and  all 
the  god  blazed  in  his  eyes;  and  he  grew  in  the  sight 
of  Hoonamunta  until  his  stature  was  as  the  stature  of 
Rawunna,  the  giant,  and  his  countenance  was  as  the 
countenance  of  Indra,  King  of  Heaven. 

And  he  went  forth,  and  stood  at  the  head  of  Hoo- 
namunta's  monkey  host,  and  called  for  a  sword  ;  and 
when  they  gave  him  one,  it  became  alive  in  his  hand, 
and  was  a  sword  of  flame ;  and  when  they  gave  him  a 
spear,  lo  !  it  became  his  slave,  flying  whithersoever  he 
bade  and  striking  where  he  listed. 

So  Rama  and  Hoonamunta,  with  all  their  monkey 
host,  took  up  their  march  for  Lunka. 

Wlien  they  came  to  the  sea  (which  is  the  Gnlf  of 


A  TifFin  of  Talk.  325 

Man.inr)  there  was  no  hrid^n^;  Imt  Rama  mounted  on 
tlic  l)aclc  of  Iloonamuiita,  and  calk'd  to  the  host  to 
follow  him ;  and  all  the  monkeys  leaped  across. 

Then  immediately  they  fell  upon  Lunka ;  and  Rama 
slew  Rawunna,  the  Monster,  and  rescued  the  delighted 
Seeta. 

And  now  those  three  sit  together  on  a  throne  in 
heaven — Seeta,  the  faithful  wife,  on  the  left  hand  of 
Rama  —  and  Hoonamunta  on  his  right  hand,  the 
shrewd  and  courageous  friend. 

Who  would  not  be  a  monkey  in  Hindostan? 


CHAPTER  III. 

CHILD-LIFE  BY  THE    GANGES. 

"We  are  told — and,  being  philosopliers,  we  will 
amuse  ourselves  by  believing — that  there  are  towns 
in  India,  somewhere  between  Cape  Comorin  and  the 
Himalayas,  wherein  everything  is  butcha — ^that  is,  "a 
little  chap ;"  where  inhabitants  and  inhabited  are  alike 
in  the  estate  of  urchins ;  where  little  Brahmins  extort 
little  offerings  from  little  dupes  at  the  foot  of  little 
altars,  and  ring  little  bells,  and  blow  little  horns,  and 
pound  little  gongs,  and  mutter  little  rigmaroles  before 
stupid  little  Krishnas  and  Sivas  and  Vishnus,  doing 
their  little  wooden  best  to  look  solemn,  mounted  on 
little  bulls  or  snakes,  under  little  canopies;  where 
little  Brahmin  bulls,  in  all  the  little  insolence  of 
their  little  sacred  privileges,  poke  their  little  noses  into 
the  little  rice-baskets  of  pious  little  maidens  in  little 


Child-Lite  by  the  Ganges.  327 

bazaars,  and  help  their  Httle  selves  to  their  little 
hearts'  content,  without  "begging your  little  pardons," 
or  "by  your  little  leaves;"  where  dirty  little  fakirs 
and  yogces  hold  their  dirty  little  arms  above  their 
dirty  little  heads,  until  their  dirty  little  muscles  are 
shrunk  to  dirty  little  rags,  and  their  dirty  little  finger- 
nails grow  through  the  backs  of  their  dirty  little  hands 
— or  wear  little  tenpenny  nails  thrust  through  their 
little  tongues  till  they  acquire  little  chronic  ini])cdi- 
meuts  in  their  decidedly  dirty  little  speech — or,  by 
means  of  little  hooks  through  the  little  sraalls-of-their- 
backs,  circumgyrate  from  little  churruck-Tposts  for  the 
edification  of  infatuated  httle  crowds,  and  the  honor 
of  horrid  little  goddesses ;  where  plucky  little  widows 
perform  their  little  suttees  for  defunct  little  husbands, 
grilling  on  little  funeral  piles;  where  mangy  little 
Pariah  dogs  defile  the  little  dinners  of  little  high-caste 
folks,  by  stealing  hungry  little  sniffs  from  sacred  little 
pots;  where  omnivorous  little  adjutant-birds  gobble 
up  little  glass  bottles,  and  bones,  and  little  dead  cati!, 
;ui(l  little  old  slippers,  and  bits  of  little  bricks,  in  front 
of  little  shops  in  little  bazaars ;  where  vociferous  liiilc 


328  The  Old. 

circars  are  driving  little  bargains  with  obese  little 
banyans,  and  consequential  little  clioivhedars — that  is, 
policemen — are  bullying  inoffensive  little  poor  people, 
and  calling  them  sooa-logue — that  is,  pigs  ; — where — 
where,  in  fine,  everything  in  heathen  human-nature 
happens  butcha,  and  the  very  fables  with  which  the 
little  story-tellers  entertain  the  little  loafers  on  the 
corners  of  the  little  streets,  are  full  of  Kitle  giants  and 
Utile  dwarfs.  Let  us  pursue  the  little  idea,  and  talk 
hutcha  to  the  end  of  this  chapter. 

When,  in  Calcutta,  you  have  smitten  the  dry  rock 
of  your  lonely  life  with  the  magic  rod  of  connubial 
love,  and  that  well-spring  of  pleasure,  a  new  baby, 
has  leaped  up  in  the  midst  of  your  wilderness  of  exile, 
the  demonstration,  if  any,  with  which  your  servants 
will  receive  the  glad  tidings,  will  depend  wholly  on 
the  "  denomination  of  the  imbecile  offspring,"  as  our 
eleemosynary  widow,  Mrs.  Diana  Theodosia  Comfort 
Green,  would  call  it.  K  it  happen  to  be  only  a  girl, 
there  will  be  a  trace  of  pity  in  the  silent  salaam  with 
which  the  grim  durwan  salutes  you  as  you  roll  into 
your  palkee  at  the  gate,  to  proceed  to  the  godowns 


C'liilcl-Litf  1)\    till-  Ganges.  329 

•where  they  arc  weighing  the  saltpetre  and  the  ^unny- 
bags.  As  he  touches  his  forehead  with  his  joined 
pahns,  he  thinks  of  the  difference  that  color  makes  to 
the  babivorous  crocodiles  of  Ganges.  Perhaps  your 
gray-beard  circar,  privileged  by  virtue  of  high  caste 
and  Hiithful  service,  will  take  upon  himself  to  condole 
with  you:  ^^  K/iodahimd,"  he  will  say,  "better  luck 
next  time;  Heaven  is  not  always  with  one's  paternal 
hopes ;  let  us  trust  that  my  lord  may  live  to  say  it 
might  have  been  worse ;  let  us  pray  that  the  halo's 
bridal  necklace  may  be  as  gay  as  rubies  and  as  light 
as  lilies,  and  that  she  may  die  before  her  husband." 
But  if  to  the  existing  number  of  your  suniosliums 
— the  jewels  that  hang  on  the  Mem  Sahib's  bosom — a 
man-child  is  added,  ah !  then  there  is  merry-making 
in  the  verandahs,  and  happy  salaaming  on  the  stairs  ; 
and  in  the  fulness  of  his  Hindoo  Sary-Gampness,  which 
counts  the  Sahib  blessed  that  hath  "  his  quiver  full  of 
sich,"  he  says,  Ap-Jci  kuUejee  kaisa  hurri  ho-jaija! 
Khodd  ruhho  lei  heehi-ica  hillejee  hhce  itni  hurri  lioga — 
Gurreeb-piirivanf  "How  large  my  lord's  liver  is 
about  to  grow  !     God  grant  to  the  ^feni  Sahib   my 


330  The  Old. 

exalted  lady,  a  liver  likewise  large — 0  favored  Pro- 
tector of  the  Poor!"  the  happiness  and  honors  which 
should  follow  upon  the  birth  of  a  male  child  being 
figuratively  comprehended  in  that  liberality  of  the 
liver  whence  comes  the  good  digestion  for  which  alone 
life  is  worth  the  living. 

Many  and  grievous  perils  do  environ  baby-life  by 
the  Ganges — ^perils  by  dry  nurses,  perils  by  wolves, 
perils  by  crocodiles,  perils  by  the  Evil  Eye,  perils  by 
kidnappers,  perils  by  cobras,  perils  by  devils. 

You  are  living  at  one  of  the  up-country  stations, 
where  the  freer  air  of  the  jungle  imparts  to  babes  and 
sucklings  a  voracious  appetite.  Besides  your  own 
dhye,  brought  from  Calcutta,  there  is  not  another  wet- 
nurse  to  be  had,  for  love  or  money.  Immediately 
Dhye  strikes  for  higher  wages.  The  Baba  Sahib,  she 
says,  has  defiled  her  rice ;  yesterday  he  put  his  foot 
into  her  curry;  to-day  he  washes  the  monkey's  tail 
in  her  consecrated  lotah.  What  shall  she  do?  she 
has  lost  caste ;  the  presents  to  the  Brahmins,  that  her 
reinstatement  will  cost  her,  will  consume  all  her  earn- 
ings from  the  beginning.     Gurreeb-purwan^  0  munifi- 


Child-Lite-   by  the  Ganges.  331 

cent  and  merciful!  what  shall  she  do?  She  strikes 
for  higher  wages.  But  you  arc  hard-hearted  and 
hard-headed;  you  will  not  pay — by  Gunga,  not 
another  pice!  by  Latchmee,  not  one  cowry  more! — 
Oh,  then  she  will  leave;  with  a  heavy  heart  she  will 
turn  her  back  on  the  blessed  baby  ;  she  will  pour  dust 
upon  her  head  before  the  Mem  Sahib,  at  whose  door 
her  disgrace  shall  lie,  and  she  will  return  to  her  kin- 
dred. Not  she!  the  durwan,  grim  and  incorruptible, 
has  his  orders ;  she  cannot  pass  the  gate.  Oho !  then 
immediately  she  dries  up ;  no  "  fount,"  and  Baby 
fixmishing.  You  try  ass's  milk ;  it  does  not  agree  with 
Baby ;  besides,  it  costs  a  rupee  a  pint.  You  try  a 
goat;  she  does  not  agree  with  Baby,  for  she  butts  hini 
tremendously,  and,  leaping  over  his  prostrate  body, 
scampers,  like  Leigh  Hunt's  pig  in  Smithfield  Market, 
up  all  manner  of  figurative  streets.  Then  you  send 
for  Dhye,  and  say,  "  Milk,  or  I  shave  your  head !" 
Milk  or  Death  !  And,  lo,  a  miracle  ! — the  "  fount" 
again  ! — Baby  is  saved. 

What  was,  then,  the  conjuration  and  the  mighty 
mao;ic?     In  the  folds  of  her  .saree  the  dhvc  conceals 


Q02  The  Old. 

leaves  of  chamheli,  tlie  Indian  jessamine,  roots  of 
dhallapee,  the  jungle  radish.  She  chews  the  chambeli, 
and  hungry  Baby,  struggling  for  the  "fount,"  is 
insulted  with  apples  of  Sodom ;  she  swallows  a  por- 
tion of  dhallapee,  and  he  is  regaled  as  with  the  melt- 
ing melons  of  Ceylon, 

Some  fine  afternoon  your  ayah  takes  your  little 
Johnny  to  stroll  by  the  river's  bank — to  watch  the 
green  budgerows,  as  they  glide,  pulled  by  singing 
dandees  (so  the  boatmen  of  Ganges  are  called)  up 
to  Patna — to  watch  the  brown  corpses,  as  they  float 
silently  down  from  Benares.  At  night  the  ayah 
returns,  wringing  her  hands.  "Where  is  your  merry 
darling?  She  knows  not,  0  Khodobund,  go  ask  the 
evil  spirits !  O  Sahib,  go  cry  unto  Gunga — go  accuse 
the  greedy  river,  and  say  to  the  envious  waters, 
"  Give  back  my  boy !"  She  had  left  him  sitting  on  a 
stone,  she  says,  counting  the  sailing  corpses,  while 
she  went  to  find  a  blue-jay's  nest  among  the  rocks ; 
when  she  returned  to  the  stone — no  Jonnee  Sahib! 
"My  golden  image,  who  hath  snatched  him  away? 


Child-Life  by  the  Ganges.  oao 

lie  that  skipped  and  hummed,  hkc  a  singing-top, 
where  is  he  gone?"  A  month  after  that,  your  dan- 
•lees  capture  a  erocodile,  and  from  his  heathen  maw 
recover  a  famihar  coral  necklace  witli  an  inscription 
on  the  clasp — "To  Johnny,  on  his  birth-day."  A 
pair  of  little  silver  bangles,  whose  jocund  jingling  had 
once  been  happy  household  music  to  some  poor  Hin- 
doo mother,  have  kept  the  necklace  company. 

Over  against  the  gate  of  our  compound  the  Baboo's 
walks  are  bright  with  roses,  and  ixoras,  and  the 
creeping  nagatallis ;  the  Baboo's  park  is  shady  with 
banians,  and  fragrant  with  sandal-trees,  and  imposing 
with  tall  peepuls,  and  cool  with  sparkling  fountains; 
and  Chinna  Tumbe,  the  Little  Brother,  the  brown 
apple  of  the  Baboo's  eye,  plays  among  the  bamboos 
by  the  tank,  just  within  the  gate,  and  pelts  the  gold- 
fislies  with  mango-seeds.  Presently  comes  along  a 
pleasant  peddler,  all  the  way  from  Cabool,  with  a 
])rctty  bushy-tailed  kitten  of  Persia  in  the  hollow  of 
his  arm,  and  a  cunning  little  mungooz  cracking  nuts 
on  his  shoulder.     A  score  of  tiny  silver  bells  tinkle 


334 


The  Old. 


from  a  silken  cord  around  Cbinna  Tumbe's  loins,  and 
the  silver  whistle  with  which  he  calls  his  cockatoos  is 
suspended  from  his  neck  by  a  chain  of  gold.     So  the 
pleasant  peddler,  all   the   way  from   Cabool,  greets 
('hinna   Tumbe   merrily,    saying,    "  See    my   pretty 
kitten,  that  knows  a  hundred  tricks!    and  see  my 
brave  mungooz,  that  can  kill  cobras  in  fair  fight! 
My   Persian  kitten   for  your    silver  bells,    Chinna 
Tumbe ;  and  my  cunning  mungooz  for  your  golden 
chain !"     And  Chinna  Tumbe  laughs,  and  claps  his 
hands,  and  dances  for  delight,  and  all  his  silver  bells 
jingle  gleefully.     And  the  pleasant  peddler  all  the 
way  from  Cabool  says,  "  Step  without  the  gate.  Little 
Brother,  if  you  would  see  my  pretty  kitten   play 
tricks;   if  you  would  stroke  my  cunning  mungooz, 
step  without  the  gate;  for  I  dare  not  pass  within,  lest 
my  lord,  the  Baboo  of  many  lacs,  should  be  angry." 
So  Chinna  Tumbe  steps  out  into  the  road,  and  the 
pleasant  peddler,  all  the  way  from  Cabool,  sets  the 
Persian  kitten  on  the  ground,  and  rattles  off  some 
strange  words,  that  sound  very  funnily  to  the  Little 
Brother ;  and  immediately  the  Persian  kitten  begins 


CliiKl-Lih-  by   the   Changes.  335 

to  run  round  after  it.s  bushy  tail,  fa.stcr  and  i;u^t<.T, 
faster  and  faster,  a  ring  of  yellow  light.  And  Chinna 
Tuinbc  elaps  his  hands,  and  eries,  11a//,  icali !  and 
all  his  silver  bells  jingle  gleefully.  So  the  pleitsant 
peddler  addresses  other  strange  and  funny  words  to  the 
ring  of  yellow  light,  and  instantly  it  sUinds  still,  and 
quivers  its  bushy  tail,  and  pants.  Then  the  peddler 
speaks  to  the  cunning  mungooz,  which  immediately 
leaps  to  the  ground,  and  sitting  quite  erect,  with  its 
broad  tail  curled  over  its  back,  like  a  niaiabout 
feather,  holds  its  paws  together  in  the  quaint  niauner 
of  a  squirrel,  and  looks  attentive.  Mure  of  tlie  ]>i'<l- 
dler's  funny  conjuration,  and  up  springs  the  mungooz 
into  the  air,  like  a  Birman's  wicker  football,  and, 
alighting  on  the  kitten's  back,  clings  close  and  liust. 
Away  fly  kitten  and  mungooz — away  from  the  gate 
— away  from  the  Baboo's  walks,  bright  with  ixoras 
and  creeping  nagatallis — away  from  the  Baboo's  park, 
shady  with  banians,  and  fragrant  with  sandal-trees, 
and  imposing  with  tall  peepuls,  and  cool  with  spark- 
ling fountain.s — away  from  the  Baboo's  home,  away 
from  the  Baboo's  heart,  bereft  thenceforth  lor  ever  1 


336  The  Old. 

For  Chinna  Tumbe  follows  fast,  crying,  Wah,  wahf 
and  clapping  his  hands,  and  jingling  gleefully  all  his 
silver  bells — follows  across  the  road,  and  through  the 
bamboo  hedge,  and  into  the  darkness  and  the  danger 
of  the  jungle;  and  the  pleasant  peddler,  all  the  way 
from  Cabool,  goes  smiling  after — but,  as  he  goes,  what 
is  it  that  he  draws  from  the  breast  of  his  dusty  cooriee  ^ 
Only  a  slender,  smooth  cord,  with  a  slip-knot  at  the 
end  of  it. 

Within  the  twelvemonth,  in  a  stony  nullah,  hard 
by  a  clump  of  crooked  saul-trees,  a  mile  away  from 
the  Baboo's  gate,  some  jackals  brought  to  light  the 
bones  of  a  Httle  child ;  and  the  deep  grave  from  which 
they  dug  them  with  their  sharp,  busy  claws,  bore 
marks  of  the  mystic  pickaxe  of  Thuggee.  But  there 
were  no  tinkling  bells,  no  chain  of  gold,  no  silver 
whistle ;  and  the  cockatoos  and  the  gold-fishes  knew 
Chinna  Tumbe  no  more. 

When  a  name  was  bestowed  on  the  Little  Brother, 
the  Brahmins  wrote  a  score  of  pretty  words  in  rice, 
and  set  over  each  a  lamp  freshly  trimmed ;  and  the 
name   whose   light    burned    brightest,    with    happy 


Cliilcl-Lifc   by  rlic   Ganges.  337 

ciiigury,  was  "Cliiniia  TiiniLc."  Aii<l  wlieii  tlicv  li;i<l 
likewise  inscribed  the  day  of  his  birtli,  and  tlie  name 
of  his  natal  star,  the  ])roud  and  happy  Baboo  cried, 
with  a  loud  voice,  three  times,  "Chinna  Tumbe;"  and 
all  the  Brahmins  stretched  forth  their  hands  and  pro- 
nounced Asirvadam — benediction.  Then  they  per- 
formed arati  about  the  child's  head,  to  avert  the  Evil 
Eye,  describing  mystic  circles  with  lamps  of  rice-paste 
set  on  copper  salvers,  with  many  pious  incantations. 
But,  spite  of  all,  the  Evil  Eye  overtook  Chinna 
Tumbe,  when  tlic  pleasant  peddler  came  all  the  way 
from  Cabool,  with  his  bushy-tailed  kitten,  and  his 
mungooz  cracking  nuts. 

They  do  say  the  ghost  of  Chinna  Tumbe  walks — 
that  always  at  midnight,  when  the  Indian  nightingale 
fills  the  Baboo's  banian  topes  with  her  lugTibrious 
song,  and  the  weird  ulus  hoot  from  the  pecpul  to])s,  a 
child,  girt  with  silver  bells,  and  followed  by  a  Persian 
kitten  and  a  mungooz,  shakes  the  Baboo's  gate,  blows 
upon  a  silver  whistle,  and  cries,  so  pitcously,  "  Ayah  1 
Ayah !" 


338  The  Old. 

At  Hurdwar,  in  the  great  fair,  among  jugglers  and 
tumblers,  liorse-tamers  and  snake-charmers,  fakirs  and 
pilgrims,  I  saw  a  small  boy  possessed  of  a  devil — an 
authentic  devil,  as  of  yore,  meet  for  miraculous  driv- 
ing out.  In  the  midst  of  dire  din,  heathenish  and 
horrible — dissonant  jangle  of  yogees'  bells,  brain- 
rending  blasts  from  Brahmins'  shells,  strepent  howling 
of  opium-drunk  devotees,  delirious  pounding  of  tom- 
toms, brazen  clangor  of  gongs — a  child  of  seven  years, 
that  might,  unpossessed,  have  been  beautiful,  sat 
under  the  shed  of  a  sort  of  curiosity-shop,  among 
bangles  and  armlets,  mouth-pieces  for  pipes,  leaden 
idols,  and  Brahminical  cords,  and  made  infernal  faces 
• — his  mouth  foaming  epileptically,  his  hair  dishevelled 
and  matted  with  sudden  sweat,  his  eyes  blood-shot, 
his  whole  aspect  diabolic.  And  on  the  ground  before 
the  miserable  lad  were  set  dishes  of  rice  mixed  with 
blood,  carcasses  of  rams  and  cocks,  handfuls  of  red 
flowers,  and  ragged  locks  of  human  hair,  wherewith 
the  more  miserable  people  sought  to  appease  the  fell 
hhula  that  had  set  up  his  throne  in  that  fair  soul. 
Sack  hat!     It  was  even  so.     And  as  the  possessed 


Child-Life  by  rhc  Ganges.  33c) 

iiukIc  spasiiiy  lists  with  liis  loot,  clinching  his  toes 
strangely,  ami  griiinr(l,  wiih  his  chin  between  his 
knees,  1  solemnly  wished  for  the  presence  of  One  who 
might  cry,  witli  the  voice  of  authority,  as  erst  in  the 
land  of  the  Gadarenes,  "Conic  out  of  the  lad,  thou 
Unclean  S]:)irit!" 

At  the  Hurdwar  fair  pretty  little  naked  girls  are 
exposed  for  sale,  and  in  their  soft  brown  innocence, 
appeal  at  once  to  the  j)urity  of  your  mind  and  the 
tenderness  of  your  heart.  They  come  from  Cashmere 
with  the  shawls,  or  from  Cabool  with  the  kittens,  or 
from  the  Punjaub  with  the  arms  and  shields. 

Very  quaint  are  the  little  Miriams,  Euths,  and 
llannahs,  of  the  Jewish  houses  in  Bombay — with  their 
full  trousers  of  blue  satin  and  gold,  their  boyish  Fez 
caps  of  spangled  red  velvet,  bound  round  with  parti- 
colored turbans,  their  chin-bands  of  pearls,  their  coin 
chains,  their  great  gold  bangles,  and  the  jingling  tas- 
sels of  their  long  plaits. 

Less  interesting,  because  formal  and  inanimate,  even 
to  sulkiness,  are  the  i)rim  little  Parsee  maidens,  who 
often  wear  an    "excM-ciscd"    cxpressidu,  of  a  si'ttled 


340  The  Old. 

sort,  as  though  they  were  wearj  of  reflecting  on  the 
hollowness  of  the  world,  and  how  their  dolls  are 
stuffed  with  sawdust,  and  that  Dakhma,  the  Tower  of 
Silence,  is  the  end  of  all  things. 

Then  there  are  the  regimental  habahgite,  the  sol- 
diers' children,  sturdiest  and  toughest  of  Anglo-Indian 
urchins — affording,  in  their  brown  cheeks,  and  crisp 
muscles,  and  boisterous  ways,  a  consoling  contrast 
to  the  oh-call-it-pale-not-fairness,  and  the  frailness, 
and  premature  pensiveness,  of  the  little  Civil  Ser- 
vice. 

And  there  is  the  half-caste  child,  the  lisping  chee- 
chee,  or  Eurasian,  grandiloquently  so  called,  much 
given  to  sentimental  minstrelsy,  juvenile  polkas,  early 
coquetry,  and  early  beer,  hot  curries,  "loud"  clothes, 
bad  English,  and  fast  pertness.  I  never  think  of  them 
without  recalling  a  precocious  ballad-screamer  of  eight 
years,  who  was  flourished  indispensably  at  every  chee- 
chec  hop  in  Chandernagore : 

"  0  lay  me  in  a  little  pit, 
With  a  marvle  thtone  to  cover  it, 


Child-Lite   by   tlu!  Ganges.  ?j_|  i 

And  kcearve  tlieicon  a  turklc-dove, 

That  tlie  world  may  know  I  died  for  love!" 

I  left  India  in  consequence  of  that  child. 

But  for  the  true  Anglo-Indian  type  of  brat,  at  all 
points  a  complete  "torn-down,"  "dislikeable  and  rod- 
worthv,"  as  Mrs.  Mackenzie  describes  it,  there  is  no- 
thing  among  nursery  nuisances  comparable  to  the 
Civil-Service  child  of  eight  or  ten  years,  whose  father, 
a  "Company's  Bad  Bargain,"  in  the  Mint,  or  the  Su- 
preme Court,  or  the  Marine  Oflice,  draws  per  mensem 
enough  to  set  his  brat  up  in  the  usual  servile  surround- 
ings of  such  small  despots.  Deriving  the  only  educa- 
tion it  ever  gets  directly  from  its  ])ersonal  attendants, 
this  young  monster  of  bad.  temper,  bad  manners,  and 
bad  language,  becomes  precociously  proficient  in  over- 
bearing ways,  and  voluble  in  Ilindostanee  Billing.sgate, 
before  it  has  acquired  enough  of  its  ancestral  tongue 
to  frame  the  simplest  sentence.  It  bullies  its  bhearcr; 
it  bangs  distractingly  on  the  tom-tom ;  it  surfeit^s 
itself  to  an  apoplectic  point  with  i)ish-pash ;  it  burns 
its  mouth  with  hot  curry,  and  bawls;  it  indulges  in 
horrid  Ilindostanee  song.s,   whereof  the  burden    will 


342  The  Old. 

not  bear  translating;  it  insults  whatever  is  most  sacred 
to  the  caste  attachments  of  its  attendants  ;  the  Moab 
of  ayahs  is  its  wash-pot,  over  an  Edom  of  bhcarers 
will  it  cast  out  its  shoe ;  it  slaps  the  mouth  of  a  grej- 
haired  khansamah  with  its  slipper,  and  dips  its  poo- 
dle's paws  in  a  Mohammedan  kitmudgar's  rice ;  it  calls 
a  learned  Pundit  an  asal  tdu,  an  egregious  owl ;  it 
says  to  a  high-caste  circar,  "Shut  up,  j'ou  pig!"  and 
to  an  illustrious  moonshee,  ^^Hi,  toom  junglee-ivallah  ! '''' 
Whereat  its  fond  mamma,  to  whom  Bengalee,  Hindos- 
tanee,  and  Sanscrit,  are  alike  sealed  books  of  Babel, 
claps  the  hands  of  her  heart,  and  crying,  "  Wah^  wahf^ 
in  all  the  innocence  of  her  philological  deficiency, 
blesses  the  fine  animal  spirits  of  her  darling  Hastings 
Chve. 

"  Soono^  you  sooa^  toora  kis-wasti  omara  hiilcri  not 
bring  ?  "  says  Hastings  Clive,  whose  English  is  apt  to 
figure  among  his  Hindostauee  like  Brahmins  in  a 
regiment  of  Sepoys — that  is,  one  Brahmin  to  every 
twenty  low-caste  fellows. 

The  Hon.  Ifn-.  Wellesky  Gough. — "  Wellesley  dear, 
do  listen  to  that  darling  Hastings  Clive,  how  sweetly  he 


Child-Lite  by  the  Ganges.  343 

prattles!  What  did  he  say  then?  If  any  one  couM 
only  learn  that  delightftil  Ilindostanee,  so  that  one 
could  converse  with  one's  dear  Hastings  Clival  Do 
tell  me  what  he  said." 

The  Hon.  Wdlesley  Goitgh,  of  Oie  Company\-i  Bad 
Bargains. — "  Literally  interpreted,  my  dearest  Maud, 
our  darling  Hastings  Clive  sweetly  remarks,  'I  say, 
you  pig,  why  in  thunder  don't  you  fetch  my  goat  into 
the  parlor?'" 

The  Hon.  Mrs.  Wellesley  Gough,  of  (he  Hon.  Mr. 
Wdlesley  Gouglis  Bad  Bargains. — "  Oh,  isn't  he  clever? 

Hastings  Clive. — "  Jon.,  you  haremzeada  f  BuJcri  na 
munkta,  nimuk-arani!  " 

The  Hon.    Wellesley    Gough.— ''My  love,   he   says 
now,   '  Get  out,  you  good-for-nothing  rascal  I  I  don't 
want  that  goat  liere.'  " 
The  Hon.  Mrs.  Wellesley  Gough.— ''Oh,  /.s//'nie  clever?" 

What  dri'adrul  crime  did  you  commit  in  aiiotlicr 
life,  O  illustrious  Moonshee,  that  you  should  fall  n<'W 
among  such  tliicvcs  as  this  horrid  Hastings  Clive? 

"Sahil),  1  know  not.  /fi/ni  kiakurrenge?  kisniut 
hi:  What  can  I  do?  it  is  my  fate." 


344  The  Old. 

Hastings  Clive  has  a  queer  assortment  of  pets,  first 
of  whicli  are  the  busliy-tailed  Persian  kittens,  herein- 
before mentioned.  "When  in  Yankee-land,  some  love- 
lorn Zeekle  is  notoriously  sweet  upon  any  Huldy  of 
the  rural  maids — when 

"  His  heart  keeps  goin'  pitypat, 
And  hern  goes  pity  Zeekle," — 

when  she  is 

"  All  kind  o'  smily  roundt  he  lips, 
And  teary  round  the  lashes," — 

it  is  usual  to  describe  his  condition  by  a  feline  figure  ; 
he  is  said  to  "  cuddle  np  to  her  like  a  sick  kitten  to  a 
hot  brick."  But  the  sick  oriental  kitten,  reversing  the 
occidental  order  of  kitten  things,  cuddles  up  to  a 
water-monkey,  and  fondly  embraces  the  refreshing 
evaporation  of  its  beaded  bulb  with  all  her  paws  and 
all  her  bushy  tail.  The  Persian  kitten  stands  high  in 
the  favor  of  Hastings  Clive. 

Hastings  Clive  has  a  parti-colored  array  of  parro- 
quets  and  hill-mainahs,  which,  as  they  learned  their 
small  language  from  his  peculiar  scurrilous  practice,  are 


Child-Lite   by   tlic   (i;ingi*s.  ^^.^^ 

but  blackguard  l)irds  at  best,  lie  also  rejoices  in  many 
blue  jays,  rescued  from  the  Ganges,  whcreinto  they 
■were  thrown  as  offerings  to  the  vengeful  Doorga,  dur- 
ing the  barbarous  ^oo;a  celebrated  in  her  name.  Very 
proud,  too,  is  Hastings  Clive  of  his  pigeons — his 
many-colored  pigeons  from  Lucknow,  Delhi,  and  Be- 
nares; an  Oudean  bird-boy  has  trained  them  to  the 
pretty  sport  of  the  Mohammedan  princes;  and  every 
afternoon  he  flies  them  from  thC  house-top  in  flashing 
flocks,  for  Hastings  Olive's  entertainment. 

Hastings  Clive  has  toys,  the  wooden  and  earthen 
toys  for  which  Benares  was  ever  famous  among  Indian 
children — nondescript  animals,  and  as  nondescript 
idols — little  Brahmin  bulls  with  bells,  and  artillery 
camels,  like  those  at  Rohilcuad  and  Agra — Sahibs 
taking  the  air  in  buggies,  country-folk  in  hackeries, 
baba-logue  in  gig-topped  tonjons.  But  much  more 
various  and  entertaining,  though  frailer,  arc  his  Cal- 
cutta toys,  of  paper,  clay,  and  wax — hunting-parties 
in  Bamboo  howdahs,  on  elephants  a  foot  high,  that 
move  their  trunks  very  euuningly^avadavatsof  clay, 
which  flutter  so  naturally,  suspended  by  hairs  in  bam- 


346  The  Old. 

boo  cages,  that  the  cats  destroy  them  quickly — minia- 
ture palanquins,  budgerows,  bungalows,  and  pagodas, 
all  of  paper — ^figures  in  clay  of  the  different  castes 
and  callings,  baboos,  kitmudgars,  washermen,  barbers, 
tailors,  street-waterers,  box- wallahs  (as  the  peddlers  are 
called),  nautch-girls,  jugglers,  sepoys,  policemen,  door- 
keepers, dog-boys — all  true  to  the  life,  in  costume, 
attitude,  and  expression. 

Statedly,  on  his  birth-day,  the  Anglo-Indian  child 
is  treated  to  a  lat-pootke  nautch,  and  Hastings  Clive 
has  a  birth-day  every  time  he  conceives  a  longing  for 
a  puppet-show  ;  so  that  our  wilful  young  friend  may 
be  said  to  be  nine  years,  or  about  nineteen  kat-poot- 
lee  nautch es,  old. 

To  make  a  birth-day  for  Hastings  Clive,  three  or 
four  iamasha-icaUahs,  or  show-fellows,  are  required ; 
these,  hired  for  a  few  rapees,  come  from  the  nearest 
bazaar,  bringing  with  them  all  the  fantastic  apparatus 
of  a  kat-pootlee  nautch,  with  its  interludes  of  story- 
telling and  jugglery.  A  sheet,  or  table-cloth,  or  per- 
haps a  painted  drop-curtain,  expressly  prepared,  is 
hung  between  two  pillars  in  the  drawing-room,  and 


Child-Lite  by  the  Changes.  347 

reaches,  not  to  the  floor,  but  to  the  tops  of  the  minia- 
ture towers  of  a  silver  palace,  where  some  splendid 
Rajali,  of  llibulous  wealth  and  power,  is  about  to  hold 
a  grand  durbar,  or  levee.  All  the  people,  be  they 
illustrious  personages  or  the  common  herd,  who  as- 
sist in  the  ceremony,  are  pu})pets  a  span  long,  rudely 
constructed  and  coarsely  painted,  but  very  faithful  a.s 
to  costume  and  manners,  and  most  dexterously 
j^layed  upon  by  the  invisible  tamasha- wallahs,  whom 
the  curtain  conceals. 

A  silver  throne  having  been  wheeled  out  on  the 
portico  by  manikin  bhearers,  the  manikin  Rajah,  at- 
tend(>(l  1)y  his  manikin  moonshee,  and  as  many  mani- 
kin courtiers  as  the  tamasha  property-man  can  sup- 
])ly,  comes  forth  in  his  wooden  way,  and  seats  him- 
self on  the  throne  in  wooden  state;  a  manikin  /kio- 
hah-hadar,  or  ]iij)e-serve7',  and  a  manikin  r]i(t(t<di-tral- 
hdi,  or  umbrella-bearer,  take  up  tlu'ir  wooden  posi- 
tions behind,  while  a  manikin  punJiah-icaUah  fiins, 
woodenly,  his  manikin  Highness,  and  the  manikin 
courtiers  dance  wooden  attendance  around,  'riicii 
manikin  ladies  and  Lrentlemen  come  on  manikin  ele- 


348  The  Old. 

phants,  and  borses,  and  camels,  or  in  manikin  palan- 
quins, and  alight  with  wooden  dignity  at  the  foot  of 
the  palace  stairs,  taking  their  respective  orders  of 
wooden  precedence  with  wooden  pomposities  and 
humilities,  and  all  the  manikin  forms  of  the  custo- 
mary bore.  The  manikin  courtiers  trip  woodenly 
down  the  grand  stairs  to  meet  the  manikin  guests 
with  little  wooden  Orientalisms  of  compliment,  and 
all  the  little  wooden  delicacies  of  the  season ;  and 
they  conduct  the  manikin  sahibs  and  bebees  into  the 
presence  of  the  manikin  Eajah,  who  receives  them 
with  wooden  condescension  and  affability,  and  gra- 
ciously reciprocates  their  wooden  salaams,  inquiring 
woodenly  into  the  health  of  all  their  manikin  friends, 
and  hoping,  with  the  utmost  ligneous  solicitude,  that 
they  have  had  a  pleasant  wooden  journey :  and  so 
on,  manikin  by  manikin,  to  the  wooden  end.  Of 
course,  much  desultory  tom-tomry  and  wild  trouba- 
douring  behind  the  curtain  make  the  occasion  mu- 
sical. 

The  audience  is  complete  in  all  the  picturesqucness 
of  mixed  baba-logue.     In  the  front  row,  chattering 


Clii Ill-Lite   l)y  the  Ganges,  iuj 

brown  ayahs,  gay  with  red  sarees  and  nose-rings,  sit 
on  the  floor,  holding  in  their  laps  pale,  tender  babies, 
i'air-liaire<l  and  blue-eyed,  lace-swaddled,  coral-clasped, 
and  amber-studded.  Behind  these,  xm  high  chairs, 
arc  the  striplings  of  three  years  and  upwards,  vocifer- 
ous and  kicking  under  the  hand-punkahs  of  their 
patient  bhearers.  Tall  fellows  are  these  bhearers, 
with  fierce  moustaches,  but  gentle  eyes — a  sort  of 
nursery  lions  whom  a  little  child  can  lead.  On  each 
side  arc  small  chocolate-colored  heathens,  in  a  sort  of 
short  chemises,  silver-bangled  as  to  tlieir  wrists  and 
ankles,  and  already  with  the  caste-mark  on  the  fore- 
heads of  some  of  them — shy,  demure  younglings,  just 
learning  all  the  awful  significance  of  the  word  SaJiib^ 
who  have  been  brought  from  mysterious  homes  by 
fond  ayalis,  and  smuggled  in  through  back-stairs'  influ- 
ence, or  boldly  introduced  by  the  durwan  under  the 
glorifying  patronage  of  that  terrible  Hastings  Clive. 

Back  of  all  are  Dhobec,  the  washerman,  and  Dir- 
zee,  the  tailor,  and  ^fehtur,  the  sweeper,  and  Mussal- 
chee,  the  torch-boy,  and  Metranee,  the  scullion — and 
all   the   rest  of  the   household    rift-raflVv.     There  is 


390  The  Old. 

mucli  clapping  of  hands,  and  happy  wah-wah-ing, 
"wherefrom  you  conclude  that  Hastings  Olive's  birth- 
day is  at  least  one  good  result  of  his  being  born  at 
all. 

The  Sahib  baba-logue  have  a  lively  share  in  seve- 
ral of  the  native  festivals.  The  Hoolee,  for  instance, 
is  their  high  carnival  of  fun,  when  they  pelt  their 
elders  and  each  other  with  the  red  powder  of  the 
mliindee^  and  repel  laughing  assaults  with  smart 
charges  of  rose-water  fired  from  busy  little  squirts. 
During  the  illumination  of  the  Duwallee,  they  re- 
ceive from  the  servants  presents  of  fantastic  toj^s,  and 
search  in  the  compounds  by  moonlight  for  the  flower 
of  the  tree  that  never  blossoms,  and  for  the  soul  of  a 
snake,  whence  comes  to  the  finder  good  luck  for  the 
rest  of  his  life. 

These  are  the  traditional  sports  of  the  baba-logue ; 
but  they  are  ingenious  in  inventing  others,  wherein, 
from  time  to  time,  the  imitative  faculty,  of  the  native 
child  especially,  is  tragically  manifested. 

When  the  ISTawab,  Shumsh-ud-deen,  was  hung  at 
Delhi  for  hiring  a  sowar  to  assassinate  Mr.  Fraser, 


C'liiKI-Litc   l)y   llic   (»:in^cs. 


)•) 


llic  l^ritish  Commissioner,  the  country  po])uliitit)u 
round  jibout  were  seized  with  tiie  news  as  with  the 
coming  of  u  dragon  or  a  destroying  army  ;  and  the 
British  Lion  was  the  Bogy,  the  Black  Douglas,  in 
whose  names  poor  ryots'  wives  scared  refractory  brats 
into  trembling  obedience.  Not  far  from  Deliii  was  a 
village  school,  where  were  many  small  boys — so 
many  Asiatic  frogs-in-a- well — to  whom  "the  news 
of  the  day"  was  full  of  terrible  portent.  Once,  when 
they  were  tired  of  loot-bull,  and  the  shuttlecock  had 
grown  heavy  on  tlicir  hands,  the  cry  was,  "  Wliat 
shall  we  play  next?"  And  one  daring  little  fel- 
low— whose  father  had  been  to  Delhi  with  his  rent, 
and  had  told  how  the  Nawab  met  his  kismnt  (his 
fate)  so  quietly,  that  the  gold-embroidered  slippers 
did  not  fall  from  his  feet — cried,  "  Let  us  play  hang- 
ing the  Nawab !  and  I  will  be  the  Nawab ;  and 
Kama,  here,  shall  be  Kurreim  Khan,  the  sowar ;  and 
Joota  shall  be  Metcalfe  Sahib,  the  magistrate  ;  and 
the  rest  of  you  shall  be  the  sahibs,  and  the  sepoys, 
and  the  priests." 

Aclia,    Acha ! — "  Good,    good !"    they    all    cried. 


352  The  Old. 

"  Let  us  play  the  Nawab's  kismut !  let  us  bang  tbe 
ISTawab !  And  Mungioo — be  tbat  is  more  clever 
tban  all  of  ns — be  tbat  is  cunning  as  a  Tbug — - 
Mungioo  sball  be  tbe  Nawab  !" 

So  tbej  began  witb  tbe  murder  of  tbe  Commis- 
sioner ;  and  be  wbo  personated  Kurreim  Kban,  tbe 
assassin,  played  so  naturally,  tbat  be  sent  tbe  Com-, 
missioner  screaming  to  bis  motber,  witb  an  arrow 
sticking  in  bis  arm.  Tben  tbey  arrested  Kurreim 
Kban,  and  bis  accomplice,  Unnia,  a  mehwaitt^  wbo 
turned  king's  evidence,  and  betrayed  tbe  sowar  ;  and 
baving  tried  and  condemned  Kurreim  Kban,  tbey 
would  bave  bung  bim  on  tbe  spot ;  but,  being  but  a 
little  fellow,  be  became  alarmed  at  tbe  serious  turn 
tbe  sport  was  taking,  altbougb  be  bad  bimself  set  so 
sbarp  an  example ;  so  be  took  nimbly  to  bis  beels, 
and  followed  bis  young  friend,  tbe  Commissioner. 

Tben  Unnia  told  bow  tbe  Nawab  bad  paid  Kur 
reim  Kban  blood-money,  because  Sbumsb-ud-deen 
did  so  bate  Fraser  Sabib.  Wbereupon  Metcalfe  Sa- 
bib,  a  little  naked  fellow,  just  tbe  color  of  an  old 
mabogany  table,  sent  bis  sepoys  and  bad  tbe  N  i- 


Ciiilil-Litc   l>y   the  Cj;ingcs.  35^ 

wal)  dragged,  in  all  his  ragged  breccli-cloth  glory,  U) 
tlie  bar  of  Sahib  justice.  In  about  three  minutes,  the 
Nawab  was  condemned  to  die — condemned  to  be 
hung  by  an  outcast  sweeper.  But,  in  considerati<jn 
of  his  exalted  rank,  they  consented  that  he  should 
wear  his  slippers,  and  ride  to  the  place  of  execution, 
smoking  his  hookah ;  and  Mungloo  acknowledged 
the  Sahib's  magnanimity  by  proudly  inclining  his 
head,  like  a  true  Nawab,  with  a  dignified  "  Acha .'" 
Then  two  members  of  the  court-martial,  who  lived 
nearest  at  hand,  ran  home,  and  quickly  returned,  one 
with  his  father's  slippers,  the  other  with  his  mother's 
hubble-bubble;  and  having  tied  the  slippers,  that 
were  a  world  too  big,  on  Mungloo's  little  feet,  and 
lighted  the  hubble-bubble,  that  he  might  smoke,  they 
mounted  him  on  a  buffalo,  captured  from  the  village 
IturJcaru,  who  happened,  just  in  the  nick  of  time,  to 
come  riding  by,  on  his  way  to  Delhi,  with  the  mail. 
And  they  led  out  the  prisoner,  smoking  his  hubble- 
bubble— and  looking,  as  Metcalfe  Sahib  said  of  the 
leal  Nawab,  "  as  if  he  had  been  accustomed  to  be 
hanged  every  day  of  his  life" — to  the  place  of  cxccu- 


354  'fhe  Old. 

tion,  an  old  saul-tree  witli  low  limbs.  Then,  liaving 
taken  the  rope  with  which  the  hurkaru's  mail-bag 
was  lashed  to  his  buffalo,  they  slipped  a  noose  over 
the  Nawab's  head,  made  the  other  end  fast  to  the 
lower  limb  of  the  saul-tree,  and  led  away  the  buffalo. 
Little  Mungloo,  who  was  cunning  as  a  Thug,  acted 
with  surprising  talent;  in  fact,  some  of  the  Sahibs 
thought  he  rather  overdid  his  part,  for  he  dropped  his 
hubble-bubble  almost  awkwardly,  and  even  kicked — 
which  the  real  Nawab  had  too  much  self-respect  to  do 
— so  that  he  sent  one  of  his  slippers  flying  one  way, 
and  the  other  another.  But  he  choked,  and  gasped, 
and  showed  the  whites  of  his  eyes,  and  turned  black 
in  the  face,  and  shivered  through  all  his  frame,  so 
very  naturally,  that  his  admiring  companions  clapped 
their  hands  vehemently,  and  cried  Wah,  ivah  I  with 
all  their  little  lungs.  IFaA,  wah!  they  screamed — • 
Wahkhooh  iamasha  kuria  Id!  Phir  kello^  Mungloo! 
Bahoot  uchi-turri  nuhkul,  kurte  ho  ioom !  "  Hooray ! 
Hooray!  Such  fun!  Do  it  again,  Mungloo — do  it 
again  1  it  takes  you  I"  Certainly  Mungloo  did  it  to  the 
life — for  he  was  dead. 


Child-Litf  ]-)v  flic  Ganges.  39^ 

To  conclude  now  with  a  specimen  of  the  tales  with 
which  the  native  story-tellers  entertain  little  heathens 
on  street  corners. 

There  was  once  a  bastard  boy,  the  son  of  a  Brah- 
min's widow ;  and  he  was  excluded  from  a  merry 
wedding-feast  on  account  of  his  disgraceful  birth. 
With  a  heart  full  of  bitterness,  he  prayed  to  Siva  for 
comfort  or  revenge ;  and  Siva,  taking  pity  on  him, 
taught  him  the  mystic  mantra,  or  incantation,  called 
Bijaksharam — Shrum,  hrim,  craoom,  hroom,  hroo  !  So 
the  boy  went  to  the  door  of  the  apartment  where  the 
wedding  guests  were  regaling  themselves  and  making 
merry,  and  he  pronounced  the  mantra  backwards — 
Hroo,  hroom,  craoom,  hrim,  shrinnf  Immediately  the 
fish,  and  the  cucumbers,  and  the  mangoes,  and  the 
pumple-noscs  took  the  shape  of  toads,  and  jumped  into 
the  faces  of  the  guests,  and  into  their  bosoms  and  laps, 
and  on  the  floor.  Then  the  boy  laughed  so  loud  that 
the  astonished  guests  knew  it  was  he  who  had  con- 
jured them  ;  so  they  went  to  the  door  and  let  him  in, 
and  set  him  at  the  head  of  the  table.  Tiicn  the  boy 
was  satisfied,  and  uttering  the  mantra  aright,  he  con- 


356  The  Old. 

jured  the  toads  back  into  tlie  dishes  again ;  and  tliey 
all  lay  down  in  their  places,   and  became  fish,   and 
cucumbers,  and  mangoes,  and  pumple-noses,  just  as  if 
nothing  had  happened. 
Glory  to  Siva  1 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ASIRVADAM,    TIIK   BRAHMIN. 

"Who  put  together  the  machinery  of  the  great  Indian 
Revolt,  and  set  it  going  ?  "Who  stirred  up  the  sleeping 
tiger  in  the  Sepoy's  heart,  and  struck  Christendom 
aghast  with  the  dire  devilries  of  Mcerut  and  Cawnpore? 

Asirvadam,  the  Brahmin ! 

Asirvadam  is  nimble  with  mace  or  cue  ;  at  the  bil- 
liard-table, it  is  hinted,  he  can  distinguish  a  kiss  from 
a  carom;  at  the  sideboard  (and  here,  if  I  were  ^fr. 
Charles  Rcade,  I  would  whisper,  in  small  type)  he 
confouiuls  not  cocktails  with  cobblers;  when,  being 
in  trade,  he  would  sell  you  saltpetre,  he  tries  you 
witli  flaxseed;  v/hen  he  would  buy  indigo,  he  offers 
you  indigo  at  a  sacrifice.  Yet,  in  Asirvadam,  if  any 
qualitv  is  more  noticeable  than  the  sleek  respectability 


358  The  Old. 

of  tlie  Baboo,  it  is  tlie  jealous  orthodoxy  of  tlie 
Brahmin.  If  he  knows  in  what  presence  to  step  out 
of  his  slippers,  and  when  to  pick  them  up  again  with 
his  toes,  in  jaunty  dandyisms  of  etiquette,  he  also 
makes  the  most  of  his  insolent  order  and  its  patent  of 
privilege,  and  wears  the  rue  of  his  triple  cord  with  a  de- 
mure and  dignified  difference.  High,  Low,  or  Jack,  it  is 
always  "  the  game"  with  him ;  and  the  game  is — Asirva- 
dam,  the  Brahmin — free  tricks  and  Brahmin's  rights — 
Asirvadam  for  his  caste,  and  everything  for  Asirvadam. 

The  natural  history  of  our  astute  and  accomplished 
friend  is  worth  a  page  or  two.  And  first,  as  to  his 
color.  Asirvadam  comes  from  the  northern  provinces, 
and  calls  the  snow-turbaned  Himalayas  cousin ;  con- 
sequently his  complexion  is  the  brightest  among 
Brahmins.  By  some  who  are  uninitiated  in  the 
chemical  mysteries  of  our  metropolitan  milk-trade,  it 
has  been  likened  to  chocolate  and  cream,  with  plenty 
of  cream ;  but  the  comparison  depends,  for  the  idea  it 
conveys,  so  much  on  the  taste  of  the  ethnological  in- 
quirer,   as   to  the  proportion  of  cream,  and  still  so 


Asir\;uliiin,  tlic   l^ralmiin.  35c) 

iiiucli  iiKJiv,  as  in  the  ciusc  of  Mr.  Woller's  weal  ])ies, 
on  the  reputation  of  "  tlie  hidy  as  makes  it,"  that  it 
will  hardly  serve  the  requirements  of  a  severe  seien- 
tilie  statement.  Co}H)er-eolor  has  an  excess  of  rf(l, 
and  sepia  is  too  brown;  the  tarry  tawnine&s  of  an  old 
Ijoatswain's  hand  is  nearer  the  mark,  but  even  tliat  is 
less  among  men-of-war's  men  than  in  the  merchant- 
service,  and  is  least  in  the  revenue  marine;  it  varies, 
also,  with  the  habits  of  the  individual,  and  the  nature 
of  his  employment  for  the  time  being.  The  llijiper 
of  your  legitimate  shiver-my-timbery  old  salt,  who.se 
most  amiable  odiee  is  piping  all  hands  to  witness  pun- 
ishment, has  long  since  acquired  the  hue  of  a  seven- 
years'  meerschaum  ;  wdiile  the  dandy  cockswain  of  a 
forty-gun  frigate  lying  off  the  navy-yard,  who  brings 
the  third  cutter  .ship-shapely  alongside  with  a  pretty 
girl  in  the  stem-sheets,  lends  her — the  pretty  girl — a 
band  at  the  gangway,  that  has  been  softened  by  fas- 
tidious applications  of  solvent  slush  to  the  tint  of  a 
long  envelope  "  on  public  service."  "  Law  sheep," 
when  we  come  to  the  binding  of  books,  is  too  sallow 
for  this  simile;  a  little  volume  of  " Familiar  Quota- 


360  The  Old. 

tions,"  in  limp  Ccalf,  (Bartlett :  Cambridge,  1855,)  might 
answer — if  the  cover  of  the  January  number  of  the 
"  Atlantic  Monthly"  were  not  exactly  the  thing. 

Simplicity,  convenience,  decorum,  and  picturesque- 
ness  distinguish  the  costume  of  Asirvadam  the  Brah- 
min. Three  yards  of  yard-wide  fine  cotton  cloth 
envelop  his  loins,  in  such  a  manner,  that,  while  one 
end  hangs  in  graceful  folds  in  front,  the  other  falls  in 
a  fine  distraction  behind.  Over  this,  a  robe  of  muslin, 
or  silk,  or  piua  cloth — the  latter  in  peculiar  favor,  by 
reason  of  its  superior  purity,  for  high-caste  wear — 
covers  his  neck,  breast,  and  arms,  and  descends  nearly 
to  his  .ankles.  Asirvadam  borrowed  this  garment 
from  the  Mussulman;  but  he  fastens  it  on  the  left 
side,  which  the  follower  of  the  Prophet  never  does, 
and  surmounts  it  with  an  ample  and  elegant  waist- 
band, beside  the  broad  Eomanesque  mantle  that  he 
tosses  over  his  shoulder  with  such  a  senatorial  aii\ 
His  turban,  also,  is  an  innovation — not  proper  to  the 
Brahmin  pure  and  simple — but,  like  the  robe, 
adopted  from  the  Moorish  wardrobe,  for  a  more 
imposing  appearance  in  Sahib  society.     It  is  formed 


Asirvadam,  the   Brahmin.  7/)i 

of  a  very  narrow  strip,  fifteen  or  twenty  yards  lonj^, 
of  fine  stufi",  moulded  to  the  orthodox  shape  and  size 
by  wrapping  it,  wliile  wet,  on  a  wooden  bloek ; 
having  been  hardened  in  the  sun,  it  i.s  worn  likt;  a 
hat.  As  for  his  feet,  Asirvadam,  uncompromising  in 
externals,  disdains  to  pollute  them  with  the  touch  of 
leather.  Shameless  fellows,  Brahmins  though  they 
be,  of  the  sect  of  Vishnu,  go  about,  without  a  blush, 
in  thonged  sandals,  made  of  abominable  skins; 
but  Asirvadam,  strict  as  a  Gooroo  when  the  eyes 
of  his  caste  arc  on  him,  is  immaculate  in  wooden 
clogs. 

In  ornaments,  bis  taste,  though  somewhat  grotes<pe, 
is  by  no  means  lavish.  A  sort  of  stud  or  button,  com- 
posed of  a  solitary  ruby,  in  the  upjier  rim  of  the  car- 
tilage of  either  ear — a  chain  of  gold,  curiously 
wrought,  and  intertwined  with  a  string  of  small  pearls, 
around  his  neck — a  massive  bangle  of  j)lain  gold  on 
his  arm — a  richly  jewelled  ring  on  his  thumb,  and 
others,  broad  and  shiekMike,  on  his  toes — complete 
bis  outfit  in  these  vanities. 

As  often  as  Asirvadam  honors  us  with  his  morning 


362  The  Old. 

visit  of  business  or  ceremony,  a  slight  yellow  line, 
drawn  horizontally  between  his  eyebrows,  with  a  paste 
composed  of  ground  sandal- wood,  denotes  that  he  has 
purified  himself  externally  and  internally,  by  bathing 
and  prayers.  To  omit  this,  even  by  the  most  unavoid- 
able chance  to  appear  in  public  without  it,  were  to 
incur  a  grave  public  scandal;  only  excepting  the 
season  of  mourning,  when,  by  an  expressive  Oriental 
figure,  the  absence  of  the  caste-mark  is  accepted  for 
the  token  of  a  profound  and  absorbing  sorrow,  which 
takes  no  thought  even  for  the  customary  forms  of 
decency.  The  disciple  of  Siva  crossbars  his  forehead 
with  ashes  of  cow-dung  or  ashes  of  the  dead;  the 
sectary  of  Yishnu  adorns  his  with  a  sort  of  trident, 
composed  of  a  central  perpendicular  line  in  red,  and 
two  oblique  lines,  white  or  yellow.  But  the  true 
Brahmin  knows  no  Siva  or  Yishnu,  no  sectarian  dis- 
tinctions or  preferences ;  Indra  has  set  no  seal  upon 
his  brow,  nor  Krishna,  nor  Devendra.  For,  ignoring 
celestial  personalities,  it  is  the  Trimurti  that  he  grandly 
adores — Creation,  Preservation,  Destruction  triune — ■ 
one  body  with  three  heads  ;  and  the  right  line  alone, 


Asirv:ul:ini,   the   Brahmin.  363 

OT  pothi,  the  mystic  circle,  describes  the  sublime  sim- 
plicity of  bis  soul's  aspiration. 

When  Asirvadam  was  but  seven  years  old,  he  was 
invested  with  i\\c,  tri])lc  cord,  by  a  grotesque,  and  in 
most  respects  absurd,  extravagant,  and  expensive 
ceremony,  called  the  Upanayayia,  or  Introduction  to 
the  Sciences,  because  none  but  Brahmins  are  freely 
admitted  to  their  mysteries.  This  triple  cord  consists 
of  three  tliick  strands  of  cotton,  each  composed  of 
several  finer  threads ;  these  three  strands,  representing 
Brahma,  Vishnu,  and  Siva,  are  not  twisted  together, 
but  hang  separately,  from  the  left  shoulder  to  the 
right  hip.  The  preparation  of  so  sacred  a  badge  is 
entrusted  to  none  but  the  purest  hands,  and  the  process 
is  attended  with  many  imposing  ceremonies.  Only 
Brahmins  may  gather  the  fresh  cotton ;  only  Brah- 
mins may  card  and  spin  and  twist  it;  audits  inves- 
titure is  a  matter  of  so  great  cost,  that  the  poorer 
brothers  must  have  recourse  to  contributions  from  the 
pious  of  their  caste,  to  defray  the  exorbitant  charges 
of  priests  and  masters  of  ccremonie.^. 

It  is  a  noticeable  fact  in  Iho  natural  history  of  the 


364  The  Old. 

always  insolent  Asirvadam,  that  unlike  Shatriya,  the 
warrior,  Vaishya,  the  cultivator,  or  Soodra,  the 
laborer,  he  is  not  born  into  the  full  enjoyment  of  his 
honors,  but,  on  the  contrary,  is  scarcely  of  more  con- 
sideration than  a  Pariah,  until  by  the  Upanayana  he 
has  been  admitted  to  his  birthright.  Yet,  once  deco- 
rated with  the  ennobling  badge  of  his  order,  our  friend 
becomes  from  that  moment  something  superior,  some- 
thing exclusive,  something  supercilious,  arrogant, 
exacting — Asirvadam,  the  high  Brahmin — a  crea- 
ture of  wide  strides  without  awkwardness,  towering 
airs  without  bombast,  Sanscrit  quotations  without 
pedantry,  florid  phraseology  without  hyperbole,  alle- 
gorical illustrations  and  proverbial  points  without  sen- 
tentiousness,  fanciful  flights  without  affectation,  and 
formal  strains  of  compliment  without  offensive 
adulation. 

When  Asirvadam  meets  Asirvadam  in  the  way, 
compliments  pass;  each  touches  his  forehead  with 
his  right  hand,  and  murmurs  twice  the  auspicious 
name  of  Rama.  But  the  passing  Yaishya  or  Soodra 
elevates  reverently  his  joined  palms  above  his  head. 


Asirvadnni,   the   Brahmin.  365 

and,  stepping  out  of  liis  slippers,  salutes  the  descen- 
dant of  the  Seven  Holy  Penitents  with  namaskaram, 
the  pious  obeisanee.  Andam  arya!  "  Ilail,  exulted 
Lord!"  he  cries;  and  the  exalted  lord,  extending  the 
pure  lilies  of  his  hands  lordliwise,  as  one  who  conde- 
scends to  accept  an  luunblc  offering,  mutters  the  mys- 
terious benediction  whicli  only  Gooroos  and  high 
Brahmins  may  bestow — Asirva/lam  ! 

The  low-caste  slave  who  may  be  admitted  to  the 
distinguished  presence  of  our  friend,  to  implore 
indulgence,  or  to  supplicate  pardon  for  an  offence, 
must  thrice  touch  the  ground,  or  the  honored  feet, 
witli  both  his  luuuls,  which  immediately  he  lays  upon 
liis  forehead ;  and  there  arc  occasions  of  peculiar 
humiliation  which  require  the  profound  prostration 
of  the  sashiangam,  or  abasement  of  the  eight  members, 
wherein  the  suppliant  extends  himself  face  down- 
ward on  the  earth,  with  palms  joined  above  his  head. 

If  Asirvadam — having  concluded  a  visit  in  whit^h 
he  hiis  delcrcntially  reminded  me  of  the  peculiar  j)ri- 
vilege  I  enjoy  in  being  admitted  to  social  eonvei-se 
with  so  select  a  being — is  about  to  withdraw  the  light 


366  The  Old. 

of  liis  presence,  he  retires  backward,  with  many 
humbly  gracious  salaams.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  I 
have  had  the  honor  to  be  his  distinguished  guest  at 
his  garden-house,  and  am  in  the  act  of  taking  my 
leave,  he  patronizes  me  to  the  gate  with  elaborate 
obsequiousness,  that  would  be  tedious,  if  it  were  not 
so  graceful,  so  comfortable,  so  gallantly  vainglorious. 
He  shows  the  way  by  following,  and  spares  me  the 
indignity  of  seeing  his  back  by  never  taking  his  eyes 
from  mine.  He  knows  what  is  due  to  his  accom- 
plished friend,  the  Sahib,  who  is  learned  in  the  four 
Yankee  Yedas  ;  as  to  what  is  due  to  Asirvadam,  the 
Brahmin,  no  man  knoweth  the  beginning  or  the  end 
of  that. 

When  Asirvadam  crosses  my  threshold,  he  leaves 
his  slippers  at  the  door.  I  am  flattered  by  the  act 
into  a  self-appreciative  complacenc}^,  until  I  discover 
that  he  thereby  simply  puts  me  on  a  level  with  his 
cow.  When  he  converses  with  me,  he  keeps  respect- 
ful distance,  and  gracefully  averts  from  me  the  annoy- 
ance of  his  breath  by  holding  his  hand  before  his 
mouth.      I  inwardly  applaud  his  refined  breeding, 


Asirvadam,  the  Brahmin.  -^67 

forgetting  that  I  am  a  Pariah  of  Pariahs,  whose  soul, 
if  I  have  one,  the  incense  of  his  holy  lungs  might 
save  alive — forgetting  that  he  is  one  to  whose  very 
footprint  the  soodra  salaams,  alighting  from  his 
palanquin — to  wliose  shadow  poor  Chakili,  the  cob- 
bler, abandons  the  broad  highway — the  feared  of 
gods,  hated  of  giants,  mistrusted  of  men,  and  adored 
of  himself — Asirvadam,  the  Brahmin. 

"  They,  the  Brahmin  Asirvadam,  to  him  Phalda- 
sana,  who  is  obedient,  who  is  true,  who  has  every 
faithful  quality,  who  knows  how  to  serve  with  cheer- 
fulness, to  submit  in  silence,  who  by  the  excellent 
services  he  renders  the  Brahmins  has  become  like 
unto  the  stone  Chintamani,  the  bringcr  of  good,  who 
by  the  number  and  variety  and  acccptablcncss  of  his 
gifts  shall  uttaiii,  without  further  trials,  to  the  para- 
dise of  Indra  :  Asirvadam  ! 

"  The  year  Vikari,  the  tenth  of  the  month  Phal- 
guna :  we  are  at  Benares  in  good  health ;  bring  us 
word  of  thint".  It  shall  be  thy  privilege  to  nuJce 
Faslitiintram  at  the  feet — which  are  the  true  lilies  of 


368  The  Old. 

Nilufar — of  us  the  Lord  Brahmin,  who  are  endowed 
with  all  the  virtues  and  all  the  sciences,  who  are 
great  as  Mount  Meru,  to  whom  belongs  illustrious 
knowledge  of  the  four  Vedas,  the  splendor  of  whose 
beneficence  is  as  the  noon-flood  of  the  sun,  who  are 
renowned  throughout  the  fourteen  worlds,  whom  the 
fourteen  worlds  admire. 

"  Having  received  with  both  hands  that  which  we 
have  abased  ourself  by  writing  to  thee,  and  having 
kissed  it  and  set  it  on  thy  head,  thou  wilt  read  with 
profound  attention  and  execute  with  grateful  alacrity 
the  orders  it  contains,  without  swerving  from  the 
strict  letter  of  them,  the  breadth  of  a  grain  of  sesa- 
mum.  Having  hastened  to  us,  as  thou  art  blessed  in 
being  bidden,  thou  shalt  wait  in  our  presence,  keep- 
ing thy  distance,  thy  hands  joined,  thy  mouth  closed, 
thine  eyes  cast  down — thou  who  art  as  though  thou 
art  not — until  we  shall  vouchsafe  to  perceive  thee. 
And  when  thou  hast  obtained  our  leave,  then,  and 
not  sooner,  shalt  thou  make  sashtangam  at  our  blessed 
feet,  which  are  the  pure  flowers  of  Nilufar,  and  with 
m^ny  lowly  kisses  shalt  lay  down  before  them  thy 


Asirvadani,  the   Bnihiiiin.  ^fx) 

unworthy  offering — ten  rupees,  as   thou  knowcst — 
more,  if  thou  iirt  wise — less  if  thou  darest. 

*•  This  is  all  we  have  to  say  to  thee:  Asirvadaml^^ 
In  the  epistolary  style  of  Asirvadam  the  Brahmin, 
we  are  at  a  loss  which  to  admire  most — the  flowers  or 
the  force,  the  modesty  or  the  magnificence. 

Among  the  cloistered  cells  of  the  women's  quarter, 
that  surround  the  inner  court  of  Asirvadam's  domes- 
tic establishment,  is  a  dark  and  narrow  chamber  which 
is  the  domain  of  woman's  rights.  It  is  called  "  the 
Eoom  of  Anger,"  because,  when  the  wife  of  the 
bosom  has  been  tempted  by  inveigling  box-wallahs 
with  a  love  of  a  pink  coortee,  or  a  pair  of  chased 
bangles,  "  such  darlings,  and  so  cheap,"  and  has  con- 
ceived a  longing  for  the  same,  her  way  is,  without  a 
word  beforehand,  to  go  shut  herself  up  in  the  Room 
of  Anger,  and  pout  and  sulk  till  she  gets  them  ;  and 
seeing  that  the  wife  of  the  bosom  is  also  the  pure 
concoctor  of  the  Brahminical  curry  and  server  of  the 
Brahminical  rice,  that  she  is  the  goddess  of  the  sacred 
kitohen  and  high-priestess  of  pots  and  pans,  it  is  ciisy 


370  The  Old. 

to  see  that  her  success  is  certain.  Poor  ht+le  brown 
fool !  that  twelve-feet-square  of  curious  custom  is  all, 
of  the  world-wide  realm  of  beauty  and  caprice,  that 
she  can  call  her  own. 

"When  the  enamored  young  Asirvadam  brought  to 
her  father's  gate  the  lover's  presents — the  ear-rings 
and  the  bangles,  the  veil  and  the  loongee,  the  attar 
and  the  betel  and  the  sandal,  the  flowers  and  the 
fruits — the  lizard  that  chirped  the  happy  omen  for 
her  betrothal  lied.  When  she  sat  by  his  side  at  the 
wedding-feast,  and  partook  of  his  rice,  prettily  pick- 
ing from  the  same  leaf,  ah !  then  she  did  not  eat — she 
dreamed;  but  ever  since  that  time,  waiting  for  his 
leavings,  not  daring  to  approach  the  board  till  he  has 
retired  to  his  pipe,  she  does  not  dream — she  feeds. 

Around  her  neck  a  strange  ornament  of  gold, 
having  engraved  upon  it  the  likeness  of  Lakshmee,  is 
suspended  by  a  consecrated  string  of  one  hundred  and 
eight  threads  of  extreme  fineness,  dyed  yellow  with 
saffron.  This  is  the  Tahli,  the  wife's  badge — "  Asir- 
vadam the  Brahmin,  his  chattel."  They  brought  it  to 
her  on  a  silver  salver,  garnished  with  flowers,  she 


Asirviulani,  the   Brahmin. 


371 


sitting  with  hei-  hctrothcd  on  a  great  cushion  ;  and  ten 
BrahmiiLs,  holding  around  the  happy  pair  a  screen  of 
silk,  invoked  for  thcra  the  favor  of  the  three  divine 
couples — Brahma  with  Sarawaatee,  Vishnu  with  Lak- 
shmee,  Siva  with  Paravatee.  Then  they  offered 
incense  to  the  Tahli,  and  a  sacrifice  of  fire,  and  they 
blessed  it  with  many  mantras,  or  holy  texts ;  and  as 
the  bride  turned  her  to  the  east,  and  fixed  her  inmost 
thought  on  the  "  Great  Mountain  of  the  North," 
Asirvadam  the  Brahmin  chisped  his  collar  on  her 
neck,  never  to  be  loosened  till  he,  dying,  shall  leave 
her  to  be  burned,  or  spurned. 

No  man,  when  he  meets  Asirvadam  the  Brahmin, 
presumes  to  ask,  "  IIow  is  the  little  brown  fool  to- 
day?" No  man,  when  he  visits  him,  ventures  to 
inquire  if  she  is  at  home ;  it  is  not  the  etiquette. 
Should  the  little  brown  fool,  having  a  mind  of  her 
own,  and  being  resolved  not  to  endure  this  any 
longer,  suddenly  make  Asirvadam  ridiculous  some 
day,  the  etiquette  is  to  hush  it  up  among  their  friends. 

As  Ilajah,  the  warrior,  sprang  from  the  right  arm  of 


372 


The  Old. 


Bralima,  and  Vaisliya,  the  cultivator,  from  liis  belly, 
and  Soodra,  the  laborer,  from  his  feet — so  Asirvadam 
the  Brahmin  was  conceived  in  the  head  and  brought 
forth  from  the  mouth  of  the  Creator ;  and  he  is  above 
the  others  by  so  much  as  the  head  is  above  arms, 
belly,  and  feet ;  he  is  wiser  than  the  others,  inasmuch 
as  he  has  lain  among  the  thoughts  of  the  god,  has 
played  with  his  inventions,  and  made  excursions 
through  the  universe  with  his  speech.  Therefore,  if 
it  be  true,  as  some  say,  that  Asirvadam  is  an  ant-hill 
of  lies,  he  is  also  a  snake's-nest  of  wisdom,  and  a  bee- 
hive of  ingenuity.  Let  him  be  respected,  for  his  rights 
are  plain. 

It  is  his  right  to  be  taught  the  Yedas  and  the  man- 
tras, all  the  tongues  of  India,  and  the  sciences ;  to 
marry  a  child- wife,  no  matter  how  old  he  may  be — or 
a  score  of  wives,  if  he  be  a  Kooleen  Brahmin,  so  that 
he  may  drive  a  lively  business  in  the  way  of  dowries; 
to  peruse  the  books  of  magic,  and  perform  the  awful 
sacrifice  of  the  Yajna ;  to  receive  presents  without 
limit,  levy  taxes  without  law,  and  beg  with  insolence. 
It  is  his  duty  to  study  diligently ;  to  conform  rigor- 


Asirvadiiiii,  tli('  Brahmin.  37^ 

oiisly  to  the  rules  of  his  caste;  to  lionor  and  ohcy  his 
superiors  without  question  or  hesitation;  to  insult  his 
inferiors,  for  the  magnifying  of  his  oflice;  to  get  him 
a  wife  without  loss  of  time,  and  a  male  child  by  all 
means.  During  his  religious  minority  he  is  expected 
to  bathe  and  sacrifice  twice  a  day,  to  abstain  from 
adorning  his  forehead  or  his  breast  with  sandal,  to 
w^ear  no  flowers  in  his  hair,  to  chew  no  betel,  to  regard 
himself  in  no  mirrors. 

Under  Hindoo  law,  which  is  his  own  law,  Asirva- 
dam  the  Brahmin  pays  no  taxes,  tolls,  or  duties; 
corporal  punishment  can  in  no  case  be  inflicted  upon 
him  ;  if  he  is  detected  in  defalcation  or  the  taking  of 
bribes,  partial  restitution  is  the  worst  penalty  that  can 
befall  him,  " For  the  belly,"  he  says,  "one  will  play 
many  tricks."  To  smite  his  cheek  with  your  leathern 
glove,  or  to  kick  him  with  your  shoe,  is  an  outrage  at 
which  the  gods  rave ;  to  kill  him,  would  draw  down 
a  monstrous  calamity  upon  the  world.  If  he  break 
faith  with  you,  it  is  as  nothing;  if  you  fail  him  in  the 
least  promise,  you  take  your  portion  with  Karta,  the 
Fox,  as  the  good  Abbe  Dubois  relates : 


374  The  Old. 

"  Karta,  Karta !"  screamed  an  Ape,  one  day,  wlien 
lie  saw  a  Fox  feeding  on  a  rotten  carcass,  "  thou  must, 
in  a  former  life,  have  committed  some  dreadful  crime, 
to  be  doomed  to  a  new  state  in  which  thou  feedest  on, 
such  garbage." 

"Alas!"  replied  the  Fox,  "I  am  not  punished 
more  severely  than  I  deserve.  I  was  once  a  man,  and 
then  I  promised  something  to  a  Brahmin,  which  I 
never  gave  him.  That  is  the  true  cause  of  my  being 
regenerated  in  this  shape.  Some  good  works  which  I 
did,  have  won  for  me  the  indulgence  of  remembering 
what  I  was  in  my  former  state,  and  the  cause  for 
which  I  have  been  degraded  into  this." 

Asirvadam  has  choice  of  a  hundred  callings,  as 
various  in  dignity  and  profit  as  they  are  numerous. 
Under  native  rule  he  makes  a  good  cooly,  because  the 
oflS-cers  of  the  revenue  are  forbidden  to  search  a  Brah- 
min's baggage,  or  anything  that  he  carries.  He  is  an 
expeditious  messenger,  for  no  man  may  stop  him ; 
and  he  can  travel  cheaply  for  whom  there  is  free  enter- 
tainment on  every  road.  "  For  the  belly  one  will 
play   many   tricks;"    and   Asirvadam,    in    financial 


Asirviitlaiii,   the   Brahmin.  375 

straits,  may  teach  dancing  tci  nautch-girls;  or  ho  may 
j)lay  the  mountebank  or  the  conjurer,  and  witli  a. slock 
ot'mantias  and  clianns  proceed  to  tlic  curing  of  mur- 
rain in  cattle,  })ip  in  chickens,  and  short-windedness 
in  old  women — at  the  same  time  telling  fortunes,  cal- 
culating nativities,  finding  lost  treasure,  advising  as  to 
journeys  and  speculations,  and  crossing  out  crosses  in 
love  for  any  pretty  dear  who  will  cross  the  poor  Brah- 
min's palm  with  a  rupee.  He  may  engage  in  com- 
mercial pursuits ;  and  in  that  case,  his  bulling  and 
bearing  at  the  opium  sales  will  put  AVall  Street  to  the 
blush.  He  may  turn  his  attention  to  the  healing  art; 
and  allopathieally,  homoeopathically,  hydropathically, 
electropathically,  or  by  any  other  path,  run  a  muck 
through  many  heathen  hospitals.  The  field  of  politics 
is  full  of  charms  for  him,  the  church  invites  his  taste 
and  talents,  and  the  army  tempts  him  with  opportu- 
nities for  intrigue ;  but  whether  in  the  shape  of  ^la- 
chiavelisms,  miracles,  or  mutinies,  he  is  for  ever  mak- 
ing mischief.  Whether  as  messenger,  dancing-master, 
conjurer,  fortune-teller,  speculator,  mountebank,  politi- 
cian, priest,  or  sepoy,  he  is  ever  tlie  same  Asirvadam 


376  The  Old. 

tlie  Brahmin — sleekest  of  lackeys,  most  servile  of 
sycophants,  expertest  of  tricksters,  smoothest  of  hypo- 
crites, coolest  of  liars,  most  insolent  of  beggars,  most 
versatile  of  adventurers,  most  inventive  of  charlatans, 
most  restless  of  schemers,  most  insidious  of  Jesuits, 
most  treacherous  of  confidants,  falsest  of  friends,  hard- 
est of  masters,  most  arrogant  of  patrons,  crudest  of 
tyrants,  most  patient  of  haters,  most  insatiable  of 
avengers,  most  gluttonous  of  ravishers,  most  infernal 
of  devils — pleasantest  of  fellows. 

Superlatively  dainty  as  to  his  fopperies  of  orthodoxy, 
Asirvadam  is  continually  dying  of  Pariah  roses  in 
aromatic  pains  of  caste.  If  in  his  goings  and  comings 
one  of  the  "  lilies  of  Nilufar"  should  chance  to  stumble 
■upon  a  bit  of  bone,  or  rag,  a  fragment  of  a  dish,  or  a 
leaf  from  which  some  one  has  eaten  —  should  his 
sacred  raiment  be  polluted  by  the  touch  of  a  dog  or  a 
Pariah — he  is  ready  to  faint,  and  only  a  bath  can  re- 
vive him.  He  may  not  touch  his  sandals  with  his 
hand,  nor  repose  in  a  strange  seat,  but  is  provided  with 
a  mat  or  a  carpet,  or  an  antelope's  skin,  to  serve  him 


Asirvadam,  the  Brahmin.  377 

for  a  cushion  in  tlic  houses  of  his  friends.  With  u  kid 
glove  you  may  put  his  respectabiHty  in  peril,  an<l  with 
your  patentdeather  pumps  affright  his  soul  within 
him.  To  him  a  pocket  handkerchief  is  a  sore  offence, 
and  a  tootlipick  monstrous.  All  the  Vedas  could  not 
save  the  Giaour  who  "chews;"  nor  burnt  brandy, 
though  the  Seven  Penitents  distilled  it,  purify  the 
mouth  that  a  tooth-brush  has  polluted.  Beware  how 
you  offer  him  a  wafered  letter  ;  and  when  you  present 
him  with  a  copy  of  your  travels,  let  it  be  bound  in 
cloth. 

He  has  the  Mantalini  idiosyncrasy  as  to  dem'd  un- 
pleasant bodies ;  and  when  he  hears  that  his  mother 
is  dead,  he  straightway  jumps  into  a  bath  with  his 
clothes  on.  Many  mantras  and  much  holy-water,  to- 
gether with  incense  of  sandal-wood,  and  other  per- 
fumery, regardless  of  expense,  can  alone  relieve  his 
premises  of  the  deadness  of  his  wife. 

For  a  Soodra  even  to  look  upon  the  earthen  vessels 
wherein  his  rice  is  boiled  implies  the  necessity  of  a 
summary  smash  of  the  infected  crockery;  and  his 
kitchen  is  his  holy  of  holies.     When  he  eats,  the  com- 


378  The  Old. 

pany  keep  silence ;  and  when  be  is  full,  they  return, 
fervent  thanks  to  the  gods  who  have  conducted  him 
safely  through  a  complexity  of  dangers ; — a  grain  of 
rice,  falling  from  his  lips,  might  have  poisoned  his 
dinner ;  a  stain  on  his  plantain-leaf  might  have  turned 
his  cake  to  stone.  His  left  hand,  condemned  to  vulgar 
and  impolite  offices,  is  not  admitted  to  the  honor  of 
assisting  at  his  repasts  ;  to  the  right  alone,  consecrated 
by  exemption  from  indecorous  duties,  belongs  the  dis- 
tinction of  conducting  his  happy  grub  to  the  heaven 
of  his  mouth.  "When  he  would  quench  his  thirst,  he 
disdains  to  apply  the  earth-born  beaker  to  his  lips, 
but  lets  the  water  fall  into  his  solemn  swallow  from  on 
high — a  pleasant  feat  to  see,  and  one  which,  like  a 
whirling  dervish,  diverts  you  by  its  agility,  while  it 
impresses  you  by  its  devotion. 

It  is  easy  to  perceive,  that,  if  our  friend  Asirva- 
dam  were  not  one  of  the  "Young  Bengal"  lights, 
who  do  not  fash  themselves  for  trifles,  his  orthodox 
sensibilities  would  be  subjected  to  so  many  and  gross 
affronts  from  the  indiscriminate  contacts  of  a  mixed 
community,  that  he  would  shortly  be  compelled  to 


Asirvadam,  the  Braliniin.  37c) 

take  refuge  in  one  of  those  Arcaditis  of  the  triple 
eord,  called  Agragramcis,  where  pare  Brahmins  are 
met  in  all  the  exclusiveness  of  high  caste,  and  wliere 
the  more  a  man  rubs  against  his  neighbor  the  more  lie 
is  sanctified.  True,  the  Soodras  have  an  irreverent 
saying,  "  An  entire  Brahmin  at  the  Agragrama,  half 
a  Brahmin  when  seen  at  a  distance,  and  a  Soodra 
when  out  of  sight ;"  but  then  the  Soodras,  as  every- 
body knows,  are  saucy,  satirical  rogues,  and  incor- 
rigible jokers. 

There  was  once  a  foolish  Brahmin,  to  whom  a  rich 
and  charitable  merchant  presented  two  pieces  of  cloth, 
the  finest  that  had  ever  been  seen  in  the  Agragrama. 
He  showed  them  to  the  other  Brahmins,  who  all  con- 
gratulated him  on  so  fortunate  an  acquisition ;  they 
told  him  it  was  the  reward  of  some  pious  deed  that  he 
had  done  in  a  previous  life.  Before  putting  them  on,  he 
washed  them,  according  to  custom,  in  order  to  purify 
them  from  the  pollution  of  the  weaver's  touch,  and 
hung  them  up  to  dry,  with  the  ends  fastened  to  two 
branches  of  a  tree.  Presently  a  dog,  happening  to 
pass  that  way,  ran  under  them,  and  the  Brahmin  could 


38o  The  Old. 

not  decide  whetlier  the  unclean  beast  was  tall  enough 
to  touch  the  cloth,  or  not.  He  questioned  his  chil- 
dren, who  were  present ;  but  they  were  not  quite  cer- 
tain. How,  then,  was  he  to  settle  the  all-important 
point?  Ingenious  Brahmin!  an  idea  struck  him. 
Getting  down  on  all  fours,  so  as  to  be  of  the  same 
height  as  the  dog,  he  crawled  under  the  precious 
cloth. 

"  Did  I  touch  it?" 

"No!"  cried  all  the  children;  and  his  soul  was 
filled  with  joy. 

But  the  next  moment  the  terrible  conviction  took 
possession  of  his  mind,  that  the  dog  had  a  turned-up 
tail ;  and  that  if,  in  passing  under  the  cloths,  he  had 
elevated  and  wagged  it,  their  defilement  must  have 
been  consummated.  Eeady-witted  Brahmin !  another 
idea.  He  called  the  cleverest  of  his  children,  and  bade 
him  aifix  to  his  breech-cloth  a  plaintain-leaf,  dog's- 
tail- wise,  and  waggishly.  Then  resuming  his  all-fours- 
ness,  he  passed  a  second  time  under  the  cloth,  and 
conscientiously,  and  anxiously,  wagged. 

"A  touch!   a  touch!"  cried  all  the  children,  and 


Asirvadam,  the  Brahmin,  381 

the  Brahmin  groaned,  for  he  knew  that  his  beautiful 
raiment  was  ruined.  Thrice  lie  wagged,  and  thrice 
the  children  cried,  "  A  touch  !  a  toucli  I" 

So  the  strict  Brahmin  leaped  to  his  feet,  in  a  fright- 
ful rage,  and,  tearing  the  precious  cloth  fioin  the  tree, 
rent  it  in  a  hundred  shreds,  while  he  cursed  the 
abominable  dog,  and  the  master  that  owned  him. 
xVnd  the  children  admired  and  were  edified,  and  they 
whispered  among  themselves — 

"  Now,  surely,  it  behooveth  us  to  take  heed  to  our 
ways,  for  our  father  is  particular." 

Moral :  And  the  Brahmin  winked. 

The  Samaradana  is  an  institution  for  which  our 
friend  Asirvadam  entertains  peculiar  veneration. 
This  is  simply  an  abundant  feast  of  Brahminical  good 
things,  to  which  the  "fat  and  greasy  citizens"  of  the 
caste  are  bidden  by  some  zealous  or  manojuvring 
Soodra — on  occasion  of  the  dedication  of  a  temple, 
perhaps,  or  in  a  season  of  drought,  or  when  a  malign 
constellation  is  to  be  averted,  or  to  celebrate  the  birth 
or  marriage  of  some  exalted  personage.     From  oil  the 


382  The  Old. 

country  round  about,  the  Brahmins  flock  to  the  feast- 
ing, singing  Sanscrit  hymns  and  obscene  songs,  and 
shouting,  Hara  !  hara !  Govinda  !  The  low  fellow 
who  has  the  honor  to  entertain  so  select  a  company  is 
not  suffered  to  seat  himself  in  the  midst  of  his  guests, 
much  less  to  partake  of  the  viands  he  has  been  per- 
mitted to  provide  ;  but  in  consideration  of  his  "deed 
of  exalted  merit,"  and  his  expensive  appreciation  of 
the  beauties  and  advantages  of  high-caste  society,  as 
expressed  in  all  the  delicacies  of  the  season,  he  may 
come,  when  the  last  course  has  been  discussed,  and, 
prostrating  himself  in  the  sashtangam  posture,  receive 
the  unanimous  asirvadam  of  the  company.  If,  in 
taking  leave  of  his  august  guests,  he  should  also  sig- 
nify his  sense  of  the  honor  they  have  done  him,  by 
presenting  each  with  a  piece  of  cloth  or  a  sum  of 
money,  he  is  assured  that  he  is  altogether  superior  in 
mind  and  person  to  the  gods,  and  that,  if  he  is  wise, 
he  will  not  neglect  to  remind  his  friends  of  his  muni- 
ficence by  another  exhibition  of  it  within  a  reasonable 
time. 

In  the  creed  of  Asirvadam  the  Brahmin  the  drinker 


Asirvadani,  the   Hralirnin.  -^83 

of  stron;^  drink  is  :i  Pariah,  ami  the  cator  of  cow's 
fk'sli  is  (huniinl  ah-cady.  If,  then,  he  can  tell  a  cock- 
tail from  a  cobbler,  an<l  scientifically  discriminate 
between  a  julep  and  a  gin-sling,  it  must  be  because 
the  Vcdas  are  unclasped  to  him ;  for  in  the  Vedas  all 
things  are  taught.  It  is  of  Asirvadam's  father  that 
the  story  is  told,  how,  when  a  fire  broke  out  in  his 
house  once,  and  all  the  pious  neighbors  ran  to  rescue 
his  effects,  the  first  articles  saved  were  a  tub  of  pickled 
j)ork  and  ajar  of  arrack.  But  this,  also,  no  doubt,  is 
the  malicious  invention  of  some  satirical  rogue  of  a 
Soodra.  Asirvadani,  as  is  well  known,  rec<jils  with 
liorror  from  the  abomination  of  eating  aught  that  has 
once  lived  and  moved  and  had  a  being ;  but  if, 
remembering  that,  you  should  seek  to  fill  his  soul 
with  consternation  by  inviting  him  to  inspect  a  fig 
under  a  microscope,  he  would  quietly  advise  you  to 
break  your  nasty  glass,  and  "  go  it  blind." 

But  there  is  one  custom  which  Asirvadani  the 
Brahmin  observes  in  common  with  the  Pariah,  and 
that  is  the  sok-nm  eerenionial  of  Death,     When  his 


384  The  Old. 

time  comes,  he  dies,  is  burned,  and  presently  for- 
gotten ;  and  it  is  a  consolation  for  his  ever  having 
been  at  all,  that  some  one  is  sure  to  be  the  richer  and 
happier  and  freer  for  his  ceasing  to  be.  True,  he  may 
assume  new  earthly  conditions,  may  pass  into  other 
vexatious  shapes  of  life ;  but  the  change  must  ever  be 
for  the  better  in  respect  of  the  interests  of  those  who 
have  suffered  by  the  powers  and  capabilities  of  the 
shape  which  he  relinquishes.  He  may  become  a 
snake ;  but  then  he  is  easily  scotched,  or  fooled  out 
of  his  fangs  with  a  cunning  charmer's  tom-tom ; — he 
may  pass  into  the  foul  feathers  of  an  indiscriminately 
gluttonous  adjutant-bird :  but  some  day  a  bone  will 
choke  him ; — his  soul  may  creep  under  the  mangy 
skin  of  a  Pariah  dog,  and  be  kicked  out  of  compounds 
by  scullions ;  he  may  be  condemned  to  the  abominable 
offices  of  a  crow  at  the  burning  ghauts,  a  jackal  by  the 
wells  of  Thuggee,  or  a  rat  in  sewers;  but  he  can 
never  again  be  such  a  nuisance,  such  a  sore  offence  to 
the  minds  and  hearts  of  men,  as  when  he  was  Asirva- 
dam  the  Brahmin. 
Fortunate  indeed  will  he  be,  if  the  low,  deep  curses  of 


Asirvadam,   the  Braliiiiin.  385 

all  whom  he  has  o])j)rossed,  betrayed,  insulted,  shall  not 
have  availed  against  him  in  his  last  hour.  "Mayest 
thou  never  have  a  friend  to  lay  thee  on  the  ground 
when  thou  diest!" — no  imprecation  so  fierce,  so  fell,  as 
that ;  even  Asirvadam  the  Brahmin  abates  his  cruel 
greed,  when  some  poor  Soodra  client,  bled  of  his  last 
anna,  thinks  of  his  sick  wife,  and  the  darling  cow  that 
must  be  sold  at  last,  and  grows  desperate.  "  Mayest 
thou  have  no  wife,  to  sprinkle  the  spot  with  cow-dung 
where  thy  corpse  shall  lie,  and  to  spread  the  unspotted 
cloth ;  nor  any  cow,  her  horns  tipped  with  rings  of 
brass,  and  her  neck  garlanded  with  flowers,  to  lead 
thee,  holding  by  her  tail,  through  i)lcasant  paths  to 
the  land  of  Yama !  May  no  Purohita  come  to  strew 
thy  bier  with  the  holy  herb,  nor  any  next  of  kin  be 
near  to  whisper  the  last  mantra !" 

Horrid  Soodra !  But  though  thy  words  make  the 
soul  of  Asirvadam  shiver,  they  are  but  the  voice  of  a 
dog,  after  all,  and  nothing  can  come  of  them.  Asir- 
vadam the  Brahmin  has  raised  up  lusty  boys  to  him- 
self, as  every  good  Brahmin  should ;  and  they  shall 
bind  together  his  thumbs  and  his  groat  toes,  and  lay 


386  The  Old. 

him  down  on  the  ground,  when  his  hour  is  come — lest 
the  bed  or  the  mat  cling  to  his  ghost,  whithersoever 
it  go,  and  torment  it  eternally.  His  wife  shall  spread 
beneath  him  a  cloth  that  the  hands  of  Kooleen  Brah- 
mins have  woven.  Lilies  of  Nilufar  shall  garland  the 
neck  of  the  happy  cow  that  is  to  lead  him  safely 
beyond  the  fiery  river,  and  the  rings  shall  be  golden 
wherewith  her  horns  are  tipped.  A  mighty  con- 
course of  clients  shall  follow  him  to  the  place  of 
burning — to  "Eudra,  the  place  of  tears" — whither 
ten  Kooleen  Brahmins  will  bear  him ;  and  as  often  as 
they  set  down  the  bier  to  feed  the  dead  with  a  morsel 
of  moistened  rice,  other  Brahmins  shall  sing  his  wis- 
dom and  his  virtues,  and  celebrate  his  meritorious 
deeds.  "When  his  funeral  pyre  is  lighted,  his  sons, 
and  his  sons'  sons,  and  his  daughters'  husbands,  and 
his  nephews,  shall  beat  their  breasts  and  rend  the 
air  with  lamentations ;  and  when  his  body  has  been 
consumed,  his  ashes  shall  be  given  to  the  Granges 
— all  save  a  certain  portion,  which  shall  be  made 
into  a  paste  with  milk,  and  moulded  into  an  image ; 
and  the  image  shall  be  set  up  in   his  house,  that 


Asirviulam,  the   Bniliniin.  387 

the  Brahmins  and  all  bis  people  may  oftcr  sacrifices 
before  it. 

On  the  tentli  day,  liis  wife  shall  adorn  her  forehead 
with  a  scarlet  emblem,  blacken  the  edges  of  her  eye- 
lids with  soorma,  deck  her  hair  with  scarlet  flowers, 
her  neck  and  bosom  with  sandal,  stain  her  face,  anns, 
and  legs  with  turmeric,  and  array  her  in  her  choicest 
robes  and  all  her  jewels,  and  follow  her  eldest  son,  in 
full  procession,  to  the  tank  hard  by  the  "  land  of  Ru- 
dra."  And  the  heir  shall  take  three  little  stones,  that 
were  planted  there  in  a  row  by  the  Purohitas,  and, 
going  down  into  the  water  as  deep  as  his  neck,  shall 
turn  his  face  to  the  sun  and  say,  "Until  this  day  these 
three  stones  have  stood  for  my  father,  that  is  dead. 
Henceforth  let  him  cease  to  be  a  carcase ;  let  him  enter 
into  the  joys  of  Swarga,  the  paradise  of  Devendra,  to 
be  blessed  with  all  conceivable  blessings,  so  long  as 
the  waters  of  Ganges  shall  continue  to  flow ; — so  shall 
the  dead  Brahmin  not  prowl  through  the  universe, 
afflicting  with  evil  tricks  stars,  men,  and  trees;  so 
shall  he  be  laid." 

But    who    sh;ill     lav    the    ()nick     Asii-v;id.iiii.    than 


388  The  Old. 

wliom  there  walks  not  a  sprite  more  cunning,  more 
malign  ? 

Ever  since  tlie  Solitaries,  odious  by  their  black  arts 
to  princes  and  people,  were  slain  or  driven  out — fif- 
teen centuries  and  more — Asirvadam,  the  Brahmin, 
has  been  selfish,  wicked,  and  mischievously  busy — 
corrupting  the  hearts,  bewildering  the  minds,  betray- 
ing the  hopes,  exhausting  the  moral  and  physical 
strength  of  the  Hindoos.  He  has  taught  them  the  fool- 
ish tumult  of  the  Hooley,  the  fanatical  ferocities  of 
the  Yajna,  the  unwhisperable  obscenities  of  the  Saktis, 
the  fierce  and  ruinous  extravagances  of  the  Doorga 
Poojah,  the  mutilating  monstrosities  of  the  Churruck, 
the  enslaving  sorceries  of  the  Atharvana  Yeda,  the 
raving  mad  revivals  of  Juggernath,  the  pious  debauch- 
eries of  Nanjanagud,  the  strange  and  sorrowful  de- 
lusions of  Suttee,  the  impudent  ravishments  of  Yen- 
gata  Ramana — all  the  fancies  and  frenzies,  all  the 
delusions  and  passions  and  moral  epilepsies,  that  go 
to  make  up  a  Meerut  or  a  Cawnpore. 

Of  the  outrageous  insolence  of  the  Seven  Penitents, 
he  omits  nothing  but  their  sincerity ;  of  the  enlight- 


Asirvadam,   tlic   Bralmiin.  ^89 

(Mied  simplicity  of  tlic  anchoret  pliilosoplicrs,  ho 
retains  nothing  but  their  selfishness;  of  the  intelh-c- 
tual  influence  of  tin;  Gooroo  })ontifT's,  he  covets  nothing 
l)iit  their  dissimulation,  lie  has  tan<rht  his  trai)in"- 
disciples  that  a  skilfully  compounded  and  })lausibly- 
udniinistei-ed  lie  is  a  goodly  thing — except  it  be  told 
against  the  cause  of  a  Brahmin ;  in  which  case,  no 
oxyhydrogeneralities  of  earthl}'-  combustion  can  afford 
an  idea  of  the  particular  hotncss  of  the  hell  devised 
for  such  a  liar.  He  has  solemnly  impressed  them 
with  the  mysterious  sacredncss  of  the  Ganges,  and  its 
manifold  virtues  of  a  supernatural  order;  to  swear 
falsely  by  its  waters,  he  says,  is  -x  crime  ii)r  which 
Indra  the  Dreadfid  has  ])rovi(led  an  eternity  of  excru- 
ciations— except  the  false  oath  be  taken  in  the  interest 
of  a  Bialiuiin,  in  which  case  the  perjurer  may  conli- 
dently  expect  a  posthumous  good  time.  For  the  lieh 
to  extort  money  from  the  poor,  says  Asirvadam,  is  an 
affront  to  the  Gooroos  and  the  Gods,  which  must  be 
j^unished  by  forfeiture,  to  the  Brahmins,  of  the  whole 
sum  e.\ti)rte(l,  tlie  ])0()r  client  to  pav  an  a<lditional 
charge  for  the  trouble  his  protectors   have  incurred; 


390  The  Old, 

the  same  when  fines  are  recovered ;  and  in  cases  of 
enforced  payment  of  debts,  three-fourths  of  the  sum 
collected  are  swallowed  up  in  costs.  Being  a  Brah- 
min, to  pay  a  bribe  is  a  foolish  act ;  to  receive  one — 
a  necessary  circumstance,  perhaps.  Not  being  a 
Brahmin,  to  offer  or  accept  a  bribe  is  a  disgraceful 
transaction,  requiring  that  both  parties  shall  be 
made  an  example  of; — the  bribe  is  forfeited  to  the 
Brahmins,  and  the  poorer  party  lined;  if  the  fine 
exceed  his  means,  the  richer  party  to  pay  the 
excess. 

As  the  Brahminical  interpretation  of  an  oath  is  not 
alwa3's  clear  to  prisoners  and  witnesses  of  other  castes, 
it  is  usual  to  illustrate  the  definition  to  the  obtuser  or 
more  scrupulous  unfortunates  by  the  old-fashioned 
machinery  of  ordeals :  such  as  compelling  the  consci- 
entious or  obdurate  inquirer  to  promenade,  without 
sandals,  over  burning  coals  ;  or  to  grasp  and  hold  for 
a  time  a  bar  of  red-hot  iron ;  or  to  plunge  the  hands 
into  boiling  oil,  and  keej)  them  there  for  several  mi- 
nutes. The  part}^  receiving  these  illustrations  and 
practical  definitions  of  the  Brahminical  nature  of  an 


Asirvadain,   the   Hiahmiii. 


391 


oath,  without  discomfort  or  scar,  is  frankly  adjudged 
innocent  and  reasonable. 

Another  pretty  trick  of  ordeal,  which  borrows  ils 
more  striking  features  from  the  department  of  natural 
history,  is  that  in  which  the  prisoner  or  witness  is 
required  to  grope  about  for  a  trinket  or  small  coin  in 
a  basket  or  j;ii-  ;il ready  occupied  by  a  lively  cobra. 
Should  the  groper  not  be  bitten,  our  courtly  friend, 
Asirvadam,  is  satisfied  there  has  been  some  mistake 
here,  and  gallantly  begs  the  gentleman's  pardon.  To 
force  the  subject  to  swallow  water,  cup  by  cup,  until 
it  bursts  from  mouth  and  nose,  is  also  a  very  neat 
ordeal,  but  requiring  practice. 

Formerly,  Asirvadam  the  Brahmin  "farmed"  the 
offences  of  his  district; — that  is,  he  i)aid  a  certain  sum 
to  government  for  the  right  to  try,  and  to  punish,  all 
the  high  crimes  and  misdemeanors  that  should  be 
committed  in  liis  "section"  for  a  year.  Of  course, 
fines  were  his  i'avorite  penalties;  and  although  most 
of  the  time,  expenses  for  meddlers  and  perjurers  being 
heavy,  the  oflice  did  not  pay  more  than  a  fair  living 
profit,  there  would  now  and  then  come  a  year  when, 


392  The  Old. 

rice  being  scarce  and  opium  cheap,  with  the  aid  of  a 
little  extra  exasperation,  he  cut  it  pretty  fat.  "  Take 
it  year  in  and  year  out,"  said  Asirvadam  the  Brahmin, 
"  a  fellow  couldn't  complain." 

Asirvadam  the  Brahmin  is  among  the  Sepoys.  He 
sits  by  the  well  of  Barrackpore,  a  comrade  on  either 
side,  and  talks,  as  only  he  can  talk  to  whom  no  books 
are  sealed.  To  one,  a  rioid  statue  of  thrilled  atten- 
tion,  lie  speaks  of  the  time  when  Arab  horsemen  first 
made  flashing  forays  down  upon  Mooltan;  he  tells 
of  Mahmoud's  mace,  that  clove  the  idol  of  Somnath, 
and  of  the  gold  and  gems  that  burst  from  the  treach- 
erous wood,  as  water  from  the  smitten  rock  in  the 
wilderness;  he  tells  of  Timour,  and  Baber  the 
Founder,  and  the  long  imperial  procession  of  the 
Great  Moguls — of  Humayoon,  and  Akbar,  and  Shah 
Jehan,  and  Aurengzebe — of  Hyder  Ali  and  Tippoo 
Sultan — of  Moorish  splendor  and  the  Prophet's  sway ; 
and  the  swarthy  Mussulman  stiffens  in  lip-parted 
listening. 

To  the  other,  a  fiery  enthusiast,  fretting  for  the 


Asirviulain,   the   I5nilimin,  3^3 

acted  moral  of  a  tale  be  knows  too  well,  he  whispers 
of  British  blasphemy  and  insolence — of  Brahmins 
insulted,  and  gods  derided — of  the  Yedas  violated,  and 
the  sacred  Sanscrit  defiled  by  the  tongues  of  Kaflirs 
— of  Pariahs  taught  and  honored — of  high  and  low 
castes  indiscriminately  mingled,  an  obscene  herd,  in 
schools  and  regiments — of  glorious  institutions,  old  as 
Mount  Meru,  boldly  overthrown — of  suttee  sup- 
pressed, and  infanticide  abated — of  widows  re-married, 
and  the  dowries  of  the  brides  of  Brahmins  limited — 
of  high-caste  students  handling  dead  bodies,  and 
Soodra  beggars  drinking  from  Brahminical  wells — of 
the  Triple  Cord  broken  in  twain,  and  Brahmin  bulls 
slain  in  the  streets,  and  cartridges  grea-sed  with  the  fat 
of  cows,  and  Christian  converts  indemnified,  and  i»ro- 
perty  not  confiscated  for  loss  of  caste — and  a  frightful 
falling  off  in  the  benighting  business  generally  ;  and 
the  fuTce  Rajpoot  grinds  his  white  teeth,  while  Asir- 
vadam  the  Brahmin  plots,  and  plots,  and  plots. 

"Incline  your  ears,  my  brothers,  and  I  will  sing  you, 
softly  and  low,  a  song  to  make  Moor  and  Rajpoot 
bite,  with  their  very  hearts"  : — 


394  The  Old. 


"Bring  soma  to  the  adorable  Indra,  the  lord  of  all,  the  lord  of 
wealth,  the  lord  of  heaven,  the  perpetual  lord,  the  lord  of  men,  the 
lord  of  earth,  the  lord  of  horses,  the  lord  of  cattle,  the  lord  of 
water  I 

"  Offer  adoration  to  Indra,  tlie  overcomer,  the  destroyer,  the  muni- 
ficent, tlie  invincible,  the  all-endowing,  the  creator,  the  all-adorable, 
the  sustainer,  the  unassailable,  the  ever-victorious ! 

"  I  proclaim  the  mighty  exploits  of  that  Indra  who  is  ever  victorious, 
the  benefactor  of  men,  the  overthrower  of  men,  the  caster-down,  the 
warrior,  who  is  gratified  by  our  libations,  the  granter  of  desires,  the 
subduer  of  enemies,  the  refuge  of  the  people ! 

"  Unequalled  in  hberality,  the  showerer,  the  slayer  of  the  malevo- 
lent, profound,  mighty,  of  impenetrable  sagacity,  the  dispenser  of 
prosperity,  the  enfeebler,  firm,  vast,  the  performer  of  pious  acts,  Indra 
has  given  birth  to  the  light  of  the  morning  I 

"  Indra,  bestow  upon  its  most  excellent  treasures,  the  reputation  of 
ability,  prosperity,  increase  of  wealth,  security  of  person,  sweetness 
of  speech,  and  auspiciousness  of  days ! 

" Offer  worship  quickly  to  Indra;  recite  hymns;  let  the  outpoured 
drops  exhilarate  him  ;  pay  adoration  to  his  superior  strength ! 

"When,  Indra,  thou  harnessest  thy  horses,  there  is  no  such  chario- 
teer as  thou ;  none  is  equal  to  thee  in  strength ;  none,  howsoever  weU 
horsed,  has  overtaken  thee! 

"  He,  who  alone  bestows  wealth  upon  the  man  who  offers  him  obla- 
tions, is  the  undisputed  sovereign:  Indra,  hoi 

"  When  wiU  he  trample  with  his  foot  upon  the  man  who  oilers  no 


Asirv;ul;iiii,   tlic   15i;iliiiiin.  3(^5 

oblations,  as   upon  u  coiled  snake?     When  will  Indra  listen   to  our 
praises?     Indra,  hoi 

"Indra  prants  formidable  strength  to  him  who  worships  him,  iiaviny 
libations  prei)ared :  Indra,  ho!" 

The  song  that  was  chanted  low  by  the  well  of  Bar- 
rackpore  to  the  maddened  Rajpoot,  to  the  dreaming 
Moor,  wius  fiercely  shouted  by  the  well  of  Cawnpore 
to  a  chorus  of  shrieking  women,  English  wives  and 
mothers,  and  spluttering  of  blood-choked  babes,  and 
clash  of  red  knives,  and  drunken  shouts  of  slayers, 
ruthless  and  obscene. 

When  Asirvadam  tlic  Brahmin  conjured  the  wild 
demon  of  revolt,  to  light  the  horrid  torch  and  bare 
the  greedy  blade,  he  tore  a  chapter  from  the  Book  of 
Menu : — 

"Let  no  man,  engaged  in  combat,  smite  his  foo  with  concealed  wea- 
pons, nor  with  arrows  mischievously  barbed,  nor  with  poisoned  arrows, 
nor  with  darts  blazing  wth  fire. 

"Nor  let  him  strike  his  enemy  alighted  on  the  ground;  nor  an 
efl'eminato  man,  nor  one  who  sues  for  life  with  closed  palms,  nor  ono 
whoso  hair  is  loose,  nor  one  who  sits  down,  nor  one  who  says,  '  I  am 
thy  captive.' 


396  The  Old. 

"  Nor  one  who  sleeps,  nor  one  who  has  lost  his  coat-of-maO,  nor  ono 
who  is  naked,  nor  one  who  is  dismayed,  nor  one  who  is  a  spectator, 
but  no  combatant,  nor  one  who  is  fighting  with  another  man. 

"  Calling  to  mind  the  duty  of  honorable  men,  let  him  never  slay  one 
who  has  broken  his  weapon,  nor  one  who  is  afflicted,  nor  one  who  has 
been  grievously  wounded,  nor  one  who  is  terrified,  nor  one  who  turns 
his  back." 

But  Asirvadam  tlie  Brahmin,  hke  the  Thug  of 
seven  victims,  has  tasted  the  sugar  of  blood,  sweeter 
upon  his  tongue  than  to  the  lips  of  an  eager  babe  the 
pearl-tipped  nipple  of  its  mother.  Henceforth  he 
must  slay,  slay,  slay,  mutilate  and  ravish,  burn  and 
slay,  in  the  name  of  the  queen  of  horrors. — Karlee,  ho ! 

Now  what  shall  be  done  with  our  dangerous  friend  ? 
Shall  he  be  blown  from  the  mouths  of  guns  ?  or 
transported  to  the  heart-breaking  Andamans  ?  or 
lashed  to  his  own  churruck-posts,  and  flayed  with 
cats  by  stout  drummers  ?  or  handcuffed  with  Pariahs 
in  chain-gangs,  to  work  on  his  knees  in  foul  sewers  ? 
or  choked  to  death  with  raw  beef-steaks  and  the 
warm  blood  of  cows  ?  or  swinged  by  stout  Irish 
wenches  with  bridle-ends?  or  smitten  on  the  mouth 


Asirvadum,   the   15mhniin.  397 

witli  kid  gloves  by  English  ladies,  his  turban  tram- 
pled under  foot  by  every  Feringhee  brat  in  Bengal  ? 
— Wanted,  a  poetical  putter-down  for  Asirvadani  the 
Brahmin. 

"Devotion  is  not  in  tlie  ragged  garment,  nor  in  tlie  staff,  nor  in 
ashes,  nor  in  tho  shaven  head,  nor  in  the  sounding  of  horns. 

"Numerous  Mahomets  there  have  been,  and  multitudes  of  Brahmis, 
Vishnus,  and  Sivas; 

"Tliousands  of  seers  and  prophets,  and  tens  of  thousands  of  saints 
and  holy  men ; 

"  But  tho  ehief  of  lords  is  the  one  Lord,  the  true  name  of  GodI" 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE   baboo's  NAUTCH. 

Salaam,  Sahib;  Chittee,  Sahib — Chittee  hai!  said 
old  Karlee,  handing  me  a  note  as  he  popped  the  cork 
of  my  soda-water  bottle,  preparatory  to  pouring  its 
carbonated  contents  upon  two  lumps  of  ice  in  a  tum- 
bler, according  to  my  every-morning  bedside  pro- 
gramme ;  for  Karlee  was  more  regular  in  his  habits 
than  I,  and  the  strict  system  of  his  hulatta  pawnee  (as 
he  called  soda-water)  libations  was  more  to  his  credit 
than  mine. 

Old  Karlee  was  a  picturesque  type  of  the  "bhearer" 
caste.  Taller  than  he  seemed — being  permanently 
bent  by  the  bhcarer's  professional  habit  of  incessant 
salaaming,  slender-limbed,  well-featured,  mild-eyed, 
and  soft-spoken ;  mahogany -hued,  and  gray-mous- 
tached ;  simple,  but  appropriate  in  his  attire — modish 


Tlic  Baboo's  Nautcli.  399 

as  to  his  cumbcrbuiid,  iiiid  orthodox  iis  to  liis  turban ; 
of  manners  most  persuasive — huialjK',  patient,  dej)re- 
catory,  quietly  remonstrating — poHtc  witlial,  and 
versed  in  the  etiquette  of  servitude  assigned  to  his 
caste;  a  faithful,  jiainstaking  heathen;  gratefully 
attached  to  the  Sahib,  in  consideration  of  kindnesses 
fewer  than  his  deserts;  a  careful,  thrifty  fellow  in  the 
Sahib's  interest;  a  gatherer  up  of  loose  rupees,  a 
sewer  on  of  truant  buttons,  a  flimous  groom  of  the 
wardrobe — indeed  a  motherly  man,  a  man  to  be  loved 
from  the  antipodes,  long  years  beyond  a  last  farewell. 
Lord,  keep  my  memory  of  him  green !  I  would  the 
child  of  my  sowed  wild  oats  might  caress  his  silver 
moustache  at  this  present  writing. 

Chitlee  means  "  note ;"  the  word  is  a  childi.sh  Ilin- 
dostanee  attempt  at  the  pronunciation  of  "  sheet" — a 
nionosy liable  impracticable  by  its  consonants  to  the 
soft  Indian  tongue.  The  present  chittee  was  an  extra- 
ordinary, quite  a  splendid  missive,  done  long-wise  on 
yellow  paper  redolent  of  sandal-wood  and  significant 
of  a  complimentary  occasion.  Within,  an  emblematic 
wood-cut  in   the   sha])e   of   a  j)ieUuv-rrame — sueli  u 


400  The  Old. 

thing  as  you  might  hew  with  a  broad  axe  out  c/.' 
heavy  ship-timber — hung  around  with  nondescript 
objects  from  the  botanical  kingdom,  inclosed  what 
the  "management"  of  a  Bowery  ball  would  call  a 
"  card  of  admission :" 

Rajinda  Radakant  Ghose 

presents  his  respectful 

compliments  to  Dr.  Richard  Roe 

and  requests  the  favor  of  his  company  to 

a  Musical  Entertainment  at  his  House 

on  "Wednesday  the  25th  Inst,  at  |  past 

8  o'clock,  p.  M.  for  the  celebration   of 

,    the  wedding  of  liis  grandson. 

Calcutta,  Simla.  23d  Feby.  1852. 

Mahindy  Laul  Press. 

"  So,  Karlee,  the  Baboo  gives  a  nautch." 
^'- Acha^  Sahib! — hwra  nautch — mighty  big — very 
fine;  will  have  continue  three  day — plenty  sahib 
there — hurra  sahib  (upper- ten) — Burra  Lard  Sahib  (the 
Governor-General).  Baboo  mighty  rich — big  Melican 
(American)  banian — large  house,  very  large,  all  same 


Tlu;    Biiboo's  Nautch.  40 1 

Lard  Sahib's  house — plenty  lac  rupee — plenty  nautch 
girl,  plenty  tom-tom,  plenty  conjure-wallah  (jugglers), 
])lenty  isherry  (wine),  plenty  branJee  pawnee,  plenty 
cheeroot,  plenty  everything.  Very  proper  Sahib  go ; 
Wilde  Sahib  go,  Wilton  Sahib,  Lode  Sahib,  Follin 
Sahib— all  ^telican  Sahib  go — Baboo  Big  Melican 
banian!"' 

Truly,  Karlee's  eloquence  was  persuasive.  Here 
was  no  vulgar  promise  of  Bengalee  magnificence  and 
hospitable  profusion.  I  knew  the  "  Great  American 
Banian ;"  his  person  was  said  to  be  not  fatter  tlian  his 
purse — his  family  pride  imposing,  his  love  of  display 
a  passion,  his  airs  nabobish,  his  residence  palatial,  his 
retinue  an  arm}'-,  his  repasts  sumptuous,  the  family 
jewels  astonishing,  his  grandson  a  pampered  pet,  and 
himself — the  Great  American  Banian. 

"  Karlee,  we  will  go." 

The  cold  season  was  just  closing,  somewhat  earlier 
than  usual.  Punka  fans  were  coming  into  play 
again  ;  the  tatties,  or  wetted  mats,  were  beginning  to 
reappear  in  verandahs.  Old  Buxsoo,  the  Khansa- 
mah,  had  thrown  off  his  quilted  blue  jacket,  with  all 


402 


The  Old. 


its  vanity  of  crimson  lining  and  shiny  buttons,  for 
nine  months  to  come.  The  fierce  durwan  at  the  gate 
had  unmuffled  his  fine  military  head,  and  giving  his 
"  regulation"  whiskers  and  moustaches  to  the  air  once 
more,  no  longer  looked  like  a  "  reduced"  statue  of 
the  Great  Mogul  as  he  appeared  to  Bishop  Heber. 
Palkee-bearers,  who  had  dwelt  in  shivering  decencies 
for  three  months,  were  "  stripping  to  the  buff,"  and 
trying  their  suppleness  for  a  set-to  with  the  sun. 
Tricksy  monkeys,  recovering  their  agility  with  their 
tropic  comfort,  were  catching  not  yet  limber  flies  on 
verandahs;  mina-birds  in  bamboo  cages  on  walls 
were  vociferating  qui-id!  qui-ld!  with  levelling  irre- 
verence to  every  passer,  careless  whether  he  were  high 
Brahmin  or  vilest  Pariah ;  and  astute  "adjutants" — 
those  pampered  scavengers — that  had  stood  on  one 
long  leg  in  isolated  and  gymnastic  wretchedness  till 
the  observer  might  well  have  fancied  they  would 
grow  so,  now  stalked  along  parapets  and  the  railings 
of  roofs,  with  airs  as  stately  as  though  claiming  in 
their  bipedness  proud  community  with  man,  and 
looking  abroad  over  the  freshly  steaming  land,  re- 


The  Baboo's  Naiitch.  403 

galed  their  nostrils  with  the  uprising  fragrance  of 
garbage. 

Cook  and  Co.'s  is  the  Tattersall's  of  India.  Twelve 
hundred  horses  stand  in  their  stalls  at  once;  and 
their  crack  turn-outs,  from  the  most  modest  of  saddle- 
cobs  to  a  four-in-hand  of  sumptuous  Arabs,  with 
bawling  syces  in  blue  and  yellow  livery,  are  in  lively 
demand  by  fast  strangers  who  would  make  a  splendid 
dash  on  the  Esplanade,  to  astonish  the  Chee-cliecs — 
as  the  half-castes  are  called — or  take  the  fancies  of 
romantic  French  maidens  in  excursions  to  Chander- 
nagore. 

Toward  dusk  on  the  25th,  ten  of  the  blue  and  yel- 
low syces  held  by  the  heads  ten  well-groomed  Arabs, 
attached  to  as  many  neat  buggies  witli  their  tops 
down,  at  the  corner  of  Sircar  Lane  and  Cossitollah. 
A  score  of  young  Americans,  who  had  reason  to  be 
atisfied  if  their  horses  were  but  half  as  fast  as  them- 
selves, waited,  whip  in  hand,  in  front  of  the  go-downs. 
Around  them  a  bustling  crowd  of  natives  vociferated. 
Chaprasseys,  or  footmen,  who  came  from  the  Baboo 
with  his  compliments  and  competing  proffers  of  ser- 


404  The  Old. 

vice,  to  show  the  way,  and  clear  the  narrow,  intri- 
cate and  thronged  bazaars  along  the  line  of  proces- 
sion, or  rather  course;  link-men,  with  flaring  bam- 
boo-joints, fed  with  petroleum ;  bhearers,  solicitous  and 
vigilant,  bringing  to  this  sahib  his  handkerchief,  to 
that  his  porte-monnaie,  and  to  another,  his  cloth  cap 
— in  place  of  the  sola  hat,  unseasonable  after  night- 
fall— or  his  warm  pea-jacket,  in  forethought  of  the 
chilliness  of  the  dawn ;  syces,  with  the  true  instinct 
of  the  Oriental  varlet,  bullying  the  rabble  in  a  poly- 
glot of  dialects,  and  superlatively  glorifying  the 
sahibs — like  "Eothen's"  donkey-boys  in  Cairo,  or 
the  garree-boys  at  Singapore  :  "i/i/  toom  junglee-wal- 
lali^  toomhanchut! — M,  hi!  ioomsooa,  toom  cliota  sooaf 
— -jouf  jou!  jeldie  jou! — Sahib  hai!  Lard  /Sahib  hail 
jouP''  "Ho,  you  drunken  loafer,  you  blackguard, 
get  out  of  the  way  on  the  right !  IIo,  you  pig,  you 
young  rascal  pig,  get  out  of  the  way  on  the  left! 
Quick !  jump  quick,  jump  quick !  for  this  Sahib 
comes — this  rich,  strong  and  terrible  nobleman  comes 
- — becomes!  becomes!" 

And  so  we  whirled  and  rattled,  with  infernal  hub- 


The  Baboo's  Nautch.  40  5 

hub;  iho  cli;qini.ssoys  and  liiikineu  shouting  us  tliey 
]';in  before  us,  the  sycos  still  bawling  as  they  hung  on, 
by  tooth  and  nail,  bcliiiid — ami  all  to  astonish  the 
denizens  of  that  shabby  (juarter,  whom  the  flashing 
cortege  did  flutter  exceedingly.  Men  laughed  and 
shouted,  women  screamed  and  grabbed  for  loose 
children,  and  youngsters  of  every  sex,  size,  complex- 
ion, and  degree  of  nakedness,  scrambletl  and  yelled. 

But  safely  enough,  nevertheless — for  the  munificent 
and  careful  Baboo  had  brilliantly  illuminated  every 
house  along  the  route  with  pretty  lamps — wc  sped 
through  the  unfragrant  concourse,  and  the  distracting 
din,  and  the  bewildering  glare ;  past  the  close,  silent, 
and  mj'Sterious  dens  of  the  Jewish  quarter,  whose 
vacant  verandahs,  too  decorous  by  half,  made  the 
])lace  suspicious  by  their  very  airs  of  innocence; 
llirough  China  Bazaar,  and  past  long  lines  of  chow- 
chow  stalls,  with  tlieir  parti-colored  and  fantastic  bal- 
loon-like lanterns,  and  their  queer  caudated  people — 
pleasant  rascals,  mongers  in  every  thing,  cordial  and 
]) repossessing  but  very  sly — scolding,  singing,  laugh- 
ing, laughing,  singing,  scolding,  altogether  and  all  at 


4o6  The  Old. 

once,  for  ever  and  for  ever ;  past  the  substantial  and 
demure  go-downs  of  prominent  Parsees,  rich,  respect- 
able, reserved  and  romantic ;  past  the  neater,  cooler, 
sweeter  bazaars  of  the  Armenians,  who  deal  in  silks, 
and  Canton  crape,  and  piiia  goods,  and  Cashmere 
shawls,  and  seersucker — from  whose  green-latticed 
balconies  above,  low,  musical  laughter  and  whispered 
songs,  and  the  provoking  tinkle  of  muflSed  guitars, 
came  down  like  the  soft  sprinkling  of  April  showers 
at  twilight;  past  the  steaming,  lamp-smoked,  fetid 
dens  of  Bengalee  peddlers,  sickening  with  the  mixed 
disgust  of  opium  pipes,  and  rancid  ghee^  and  mangy- 
pariah  dogs. 

And  so  we  sped  laughing,  and  shouting  merrily  to 
one  another — now  grazing  with  buzzing  wheel,  as  our 
horses  shied  from  a  sudden  yell,  or  fiercer  array  of 
lights,  or  the  red  flash  of  a  petroleum  fire,  the  pit-falls 
of  stone  ditches  on  either  side ;  now  stinging  with 
our  whips  the  bare  loins  of  some  insolent  or  lazy 
scamp  who  dared  to  seem  regardless  of  our  haste ; 
now  dispersing  with  free  and  gallant  salutations  a 
balcony-full  of  dim  daughters  of  Israel,  upon  whom, 


The   H;ibo(/s  N:iut(h.  407 

round  a  sliarp  corner,  wc  had  come  unawares — and 
so  wc  reachi'd  the  Baboo's  lodge. 

II"  I  were  called  upon  to  describe  that  scene  of  dis- 
tracting hullabaloo  and  scramble  and  glare,  I  could 
lind  only  the  imperfect  comparison  of  an  opium  sale 
at  the  Exchange  in  Tank  Square ;  and  that  can  be 
likened  to  nothing  in  the  world's  liurly-burlies,  sacred 
or  profane,  but  the  daft  jargon  and  incoherent  Kil- 
kenny-catness  of  the  Tower  of  Babel,  when  masons 
and  joiners,  confounded  into  fiends,  threw  down  their 
tools,  and  tore  their  hair,  and  foamed ;  and,  Avith  red 
eyes  and  swollen  temples,  hoarsely  berated  one  ano- 
ther for  drunkards,  and  dazed  fools,  and  rolled  on  the 
ground  in  wits-cndy  desperation,  and  cried  for  their 
dear  universal  tongue,  which,  like  Leigh  Hunt's  pig 
in  Smithfield  Market,  had  broke  away  irom  them, 
and  would  be  sure  to  run  down  all  manner  of  streets. 

Winking  our  eyes  and  shielding  our  ears,  wc  hur- 
ried through  the  gate-lodge,  only  staying  for  a  moment 
to  bestow  the  customary  bueksheesh  on  the  hand- 
some durwan,  all  glorious  in  his  authority  and  hos- 
pitality.     Some  chowkccdans — polieemen  in  luiii'orm 


4o8  The  Old. 

followed  by  an  army  of  blicarers  and  chaprasseys, 
escorted  us  througli  the  native  tlirong  that  impeded 
the  approaches,  into  a  grand  column-girt  rotunda, 
brilliant  with  a  firmament  of  perfumed  lamps,  and 
decorated  with  complimentary  festoons  of  American 
and  the  Company's  flags  intertwined.  Here  we  found, 
already  gathered,  a  mixed  concourse  of  European 
and  Asiatic  guests  in  their  holiday  attire,  presenting 
in  the  variety  of  their  costume  and  language  such  a 
picturesque  and  curious  assemblage  as  can  only  be 
met  with  on  some  ceremonial  occasion  at  Calcutta. 

A  numerous  company  were  ranged  in  a  circle  on 
sofas,  benches,  and  chairs,  leaving  the  central  space 
free  for  the  movements  of  their  entertainers  and 
attendants.  As  many  more  were  passing  from  place 
to  place,  interchanging  pleasantries  with  their  friends, 
following  officious  kitmudgars  to  an  upper  floor, 
where  were  refreshments,  chess  and  billiards,  or  chat- 
ting apart  with  fat  but  dignified  banians.  There 
were  graceful  and  scholarly  baboos,  of  the  "  Young 
Bengal"  persuasion,  and  the  style  of  Eajinda  Dutt ; 
grave,  enlightened,  and  sagacious  Parsees,  competent, 


The   Baboo's  Naurcli.  409 

l)v  their  liberal  vicnvs,  if  iK)t  by  lacs,  to  fill  the  j)lace. 
— when  he  shall  have  departed  from  his  sphere  of 
innnificent  usefulness — of  Sir  Jamcsetjce  Jeejeebhoy, 
whom  all  India  delights  to  honor  for  many  wise  and 
princely  endowments ;  Anglo-Indian  officers  of  the 
Napier  school  and  practice,  bluff  and  "  devilish 
blunt "  old  Joe  Bagstocks,  with  grizzled  moustaches 
and  complexions  like  a  guinea — "  livery  "  old  boys 
who  can  never  get  their  curry  hot  enough ;  puppy 
heroes  of  the  ensign  age,  with  incipient  whiskers,  cut 
nuitton-chopwise,  and  dickeys  desperate  with  starch — 
such  fellows  as  you  sec  periodically  "bawed,"  or  "I 
believe-you-my-boyed,"  or  "  I-say-Fwed-deuced-foino 
guirl-ed  "  in  the  portfolio  of  Mr.  Punch.  There,  too, 
were  chee-chcc  civil-servants  on  very  chee-chee  sala- 
ries— cheap,  servile,  and  especially  "nigger" — with 
whited  sepulchres  for  daughters,  if  whited  sepulchres 
can  be  touched  with  a  Terpsichorean  madness  of  the 
legs,  and  coneenlre  all  their  aspirations  in  gymnastic 
and  pci'spiratory  rehearsals  of  polkas  and  vals(>s  a- 
dcux-tem])s.  And  there,  too,  were  British  civil  dli- 
cers   on    very   Anglo-Indian    salaries — costly,   super- 


41  o  The  Old. 

oilious,  and  especially,  "  boss" — escorting  "  Company's 
wi dows,"  general-officers'- orphan-daughters-in-reduced 
circumstances,  and  other  equivocal  speculations  in 
crinoline  who  had  conceived  a  longing  for  "three 
hundred  rupees,  dead  or  alive." 

Our  comfortable  host,  the  fat  and  fine  old  Baboo, 
modestly  attired  in  pina,  as  if  to  denote  that  the  plea- 
sure his  rupees  might  afford  his  friends  sufficed  for 
him,  passed  from  guest  to  guest,  his  hands  laden  with 
the  rarest  and  most  fragrant  flowers,  which  ever  and 
anon  he  sprinkled,  as  is  the  superfluous  custom  at 
such  entertainments,  with  rose-water  contained  in  a 
vase  of  gold  with  which  a  servant  attended  him,  while 
another  bore,  on  a  silver  dish,  miniature  bottles  of 
attar  of  roses,  pretty  fans,  fantastic  ivory  toys,  and 
even  a  ruby  or  two,  which  were  for  presents  to  distin- 
guished strangers  and  dearest  friends.  For  every 
one,  as  he  passed,  this  fine  old  Indian  gentleman  had 
the  true  De  Coverley  address — prettinesses  and  pre- 
sents for  the  ladies — good-fellow-familiarities  or  defe- 
rential compliments  for  the  men. 

On  a  decorated  balcony  the  Governor-General's  band 


The    Baboo's   Nautcli. 


411 


— graciously  contributed  for  the  occasion — discoursed 
the  latest  music  from  ballet  or  opera;  while  on  the 
■Qoor  native  musicians  plagued  unoffending  fiddles, 
pinched  and  twitched  obstinate  guitars,  mauled  help- 
less tom-toms,  and  drew  squeals  of  anguish  from 
miserable  pij^es,  tortured  in  all  llieir  stops  with  the 
question  peine  ei  dure.  It  was  a  pity  that  all  played 
at  once,  and  scarcely  fairer  to  the  audience  than  the 
performers.  Presently  there  was  a  stir  on  that  side 
of  the  rotunda  over  against  the  entrance  and  the  main 
body  of  guests;  and  with  "Trip  to  the  "Wedding" 
from  the  Government  band,  and  something  to  corre- 
spond, no  doubt,  from  the  outraged  tom-toms  and  the 
excruciated  pipes,  the  bridegroom  in  his  litter  was 
borne  into  the  midst  of  us  on  the  honored  shoulders 
of  his  bhearers. 

At  first,  this  litter  was  so  shrouded  with  heavy 
satin  curtains,  in  blue  and  crimson,  purple  and  orange, 
embroidered  with  gold,  and  bordered  with  massive 
bullion  fringe^,  that  our  curiosity,  prepared  for  a 
rajah's  splendoi-s,  was  not  indulged  with  even  the 
dimmest  hint  of  its  quality,  or  the   appearance  and 


412  The  Old. 

state  of  its  occupant.  But  wlien  tlie  bhearers  set  their 
burden  down,  and  the  Baboo,  witli  j)roud  and  partial 
hands,  drew  back  the  hangings,  we  saw  a  sort  of  bed- 
stead, wide  and  high,  and  all  of  silver — arabesquely 
traced  and  gilded  at  the  cornices,  and  inlaid  in  the  posts. 
A  cushion  of  cloth  of  gold  served  the  purpose  of  a 
mattress,  and  a  skirt  or  valence  of  the  same  material, 
fringed  with  gold  cord,  hung  nearly  to  the  floor. 
There  were  no  pillows  or  coverlet — for  this  magnifi- 
cent structure  partook  of  the  character  of  a  royal 
divan  rather  than  of  a  couch. 

Within,  a  beautiful,  graceful,  and  intelligent-looking 
lad,  of  twelve  perhaps,  sat  enthroned  on  a  princely 
pile  of  Cashmere  and  Canton  shawls,  true  silks  of 
Samarcand,  the  wondrous  textures  of  the  old  con- 
secrated looms  of  Benares,  fine  linen  of  Ireland, 
and  even  velvets  from  Lyons.  He  was  clad — cors- 
leted  and  greaved  and  helmed — in  jewels  of  a  rajah's 
patrimony  ;  golden  bells  hung  silent,  so  motionless  he 
sat,  from  his  ankles — golden  bells  from  a  bright  band 
of  gold  that  encircled  his  brow ;  he  was  slippered 
with  gems  too ;  a  Cashmere  scarf  served  him  for  a 


The   Baboo's  Nautch.  413 

cuiuberbuiul,  and  his  loonghce  chcapt-ned  Tvriaii 
purple — or  that  fabulous  texture  of  Dhacca  which 
the  cows  ate  unawares,  as  it  lay  on  the  grass  where  a 
royal  rajpoot's  daughters  had  spread  it  to  bleaeh. 

The  Baboo — when  the  jn'oud  interval  devoted  to  the 
first  wonder  and  admiration  of  his  guests  had  passed 
— took  the  dazzling  boy  tenderly  in  his  arms,  and 
kissing  him  fondly  on  b(jth  cheeks,  with  a  happy 
smile  led  him  forward  into  the  midst  of  the  company. 
Then  the  boy  laughed,  and  cill  the  golden  bells  jingled, 
and  the  band  of  the  Burra  Lard  Sahib — as  the  Hindoos 
style  the  Governor-General  —  struck  up  hymeneal 
strains;  and  even  the  twitched  guitar  lifted  up  its 
now  willing  voice,  and  the  squealing  pipe  forgot  its 
pain  and  made  merry ;  for  this  tender  child  w'as  the 
uewly-married  spouse. 

F]'om  guest  to  guest  he  passed,  gracefully  salaam- 
ing, and  to  the  f^iir  ones  of  the  company  he  offered, 
with  impartial  gallantry,  heliotropes,  which  ever  turn, 
longing,  to  the  sun,  and  white  rose-buds  for  their 
significance,  and  mango-blossoms,  meaning  fruitful- 
ness.    Then,  having  sprinkled  the  brows  of  the  fliirest 


414  The  Old. 

with  rose-water,  and  into  the  lap  of  a  pretty  maiden 
in  her  fresh  teens  dropped  a  pure  opal,  he  sweetly 
kissed  his  finger-tips  in  salaam  again,  and  withdrew  to 
his  throne,  where  he  sank  down  among  his  shawls 
like  a  brown  Cupid  among  flowers. 

Then  the  Baboo  seated  himself  in  a  plain  arm-chair 
in  the  very  centre  of  all,  and  clapped  his  hands  thrice, 
for  a  signal  that  the  minor  shows  of  the  evening  mio;ht 
begin. 

First  of  all  came  the  nautch  girls,  arraj^ed  in  bar- 
baric drapery  and  jewelled  in  profusion — bells  on  their 
ankles,  and  rings  on  their  toes,  and  bright  ribbons 
of  silver  braided  in  their  hair,  confined  by  golden 
bodkins.  Transparent  veils,  dyed  like  the  mist  when 
the  red  sun  goes  down  behind  it,  enfolded  them  from 
crown  to  toe,  and  pearl  and  sapphire-studded  vests  of 
amber  satin  flashed  through  and  through.  From  their 
delicate  ears,  pierced  in  twenty  places,  were  suspended, 
softly  tinkling,  as  many  rings ;  and  a  great  lioop  of 
gold,  supporting  a  central  pearl  and  two  rubies,  hung 
from  the  nose  and  encircled  the  lips,  so  that  the  jewels 
lay  upon  the  chin. 


The   Baboo's  Nautch. 


415 


"\Vluii  lliey  began  lu  dunce  it  was  easy  to  forget 
the  obibirate  guitar,  tlic  abused  tom-toms,  and  the 
licart-wrung  pipe,  in  their  poetry  of  motion,  the  pan- 
tomime of  tender  balhidr}' — the  devotion,  the  anguish, 
the  patience,  the  courage,  the  victory  of  love,  rehated 
in  curved  lines  of  grace  and  beauty,  in  the  brown 
roundness  and  suppleness  and  harmonious  blendings 
of  soft,  elastic  limbs,  serpent-like  in  lyric  spirals.  It 
was  not  dancing,  speaking  Elsslerwise  or  Taglionic6 
— they  neither  leaped  nor  skipped,  neither  balanced 
nor  pirouetted,  there  were  no  tours  de  force  or  pit- 
astonnding  gymnastics ;  they  glided,  they  floated,  in 
the  melody  of  action  ;  and  when  one  sweet  young 
singer  lifted  up  a  fresh  but  well-trained  voice  in  the 
artless  plaintiveness  of  Taza  Bu  Taza,  our  hearts  were 
filled  with  the  Indian  ditty  that  Sir  AValter  Scott  so 
loved. 

This  done,  the  jugglers  came  on — common-place 
fellows  enough,  with  few  and  simple  apparatus,  and 
none  of  the  awfid  and  dazzling  paraphernalia  of  our 
Cockney  ITerr  Alexanders  and  Yankee  Fakii-s  of 
Ava.     Squatting  humbly  on  the  ground,  they  waited 


41 6  The  Old. 

for  the  word.  The  Baboo,  smiling,  called  one  to  his 
feet,  and  bade  him  show  us  a  trial  of  his  art.  The 
man  asked  for  bottles,  empty  glass  bottles,  whole  or 
broken,  as  the  Baboo  pleased.  A  kitmudgar  was  sent 
to  the  refreshment-rooms  above,  where  champagne 
corks  had  been  popping  smartly  by  platoons,  to  fetch 
a  few  "  dead  men." 

When  one  was  handed  to  the  fellow,  he  sounded  it 
once  or  twice  against  another,  and  stepping  forward, 
with  many  salaams,  to  the  audience,  passed  it  from 
hand  to  hand  to  be  examined,  that  it  might  be  per- 
ceived the  bottle  was  a  good  bottle,  and  no  deception. 
Then  returning  to  his  place,  he  broke  the  bottle  in 
two,,  and  with  a  fragment  in  each  hand,  coolly  bit  off 
large  slices,  as  one  would  devour  a  melon  or  a  cake ; 
and  with  no  noticeable  care,  or  any  peculiarity  in  his 
manner  of  masticating,  but  with  seeming  satisfaction, 
as  though  he  were  enjoying  a  repast,  deliberately 
chewed  them  finely,  spitting  forth  from  time  to  time 
large  mouth fuls  of  glittering  glass-powder,  sometimes 
slightly  stained  with  blood,  till  the  whole  was  done. 

Then,  at  a  sign  from  the  Baboo,  the  man  approached 


The   Balxn/s  Nuutcli.  41  y 

the  spectators,  to  display  his  luuulh  to  such  mixi<ju.s 
scientific  inquirers  as  might  desire  to  examiue  it. 
Phiinly  there  had  been  no  trick — the  fellow  hinl  in 
very  truth  masticated  the  glass,  and  his  lij)S  had 
suft'ercd  a  few  scratches.  If,  in  the  course  of  the 
performance,  he  had  spit  out  a  formidable  slice  of 
tongue,  we  admiring  new-comers  would,  no  doubt — 
like  the  sailor  who  attended  an  exhibition  of  the 
Wiiiard  of  the  North,  when  he  treated  his  audience 
to  a  trick  not  on  the  programme,  by  blowing  off  the 
roof  of  the  house — have  had  no  more  alarmed  excla- 
mation to  utter  than  "Wonder  what  he'll  do  next!" 

After  this  glassivorous  monster,  came  some  experts 
of  the  more  familiar  sort — the  sword-swallowers,  and 
the  fire-eaters,  and  the  tossers  of  balls,  and  the  posture- 
makers.     We  soon  tired  of  them. 

Then  followed  a  more  startling  exhibition :  Some 
Nutt  gipsies  were  led  out — a  family  of  four,  being  a 
man,  two  women,  and  a  boy.  They  brought  with 
them  a  tall  pole  which  the  man  fixed  upright,  in  a 
place  in  the  floor  prepared  to  receive  it.  They  had 
also  two  or  three  brass  dishes,  some  eggs,  an  earthen 


4i8  The  Old. 

jar  or  two,  and  a  bottle.  When  tlie  man  had  planted 
his  pole,  he  began  trotting  ronnd  it,  in  a  narrow  circle, 
chanting  a  monotonous  song,  which  every  moment 
quickened  with  his  pace.  One  of  the  women  sat  on 
the  ground,  and  beat  with  her  fingers  on  a  small 
drum  ;  the  boy  drew  a  clattering  accompaniment  from 
a  sort  of  castanets ;  the  other  woman  remained  for  a 
time  silent  and  still.  But  presently  the  man  clapped 
his  hands  with  a  smart  double  stroke,  and  at  the  sign 
the  woman  rose  to  her  feet  and,  as  he  passed  her, 
sprang  with  marvellous  agility  to  his  shoulder,  and 
then  to  the  very  top  of  his  head — where  she  stood 
with  folded  arms,  statue-like,  and  seemingly  as  firmly 
planted. 

Still  the  man  ran  on,  faster  and  faster.  Then  the 
boy  laid  down  his  castanets,  and  took  up  one  of  the 
earthen  jars,  with  which  he  followed  them ;  and  ere 
we  could  see  how  the  nimble  feat  was  done,  the  jar 
was  on  the  man's  head,  and  the  woman  stood  upon  it 
in  the  same  attitude  as  before.  And  still  the  man  ran 
round  and  round,  faster  and  faster,  and  faster  went 
his  meaere-noted  song,  and  faster  went  the  drum. 


The  Baboo"^  Naiircli.  .pij 

Then  the  boy  brouglit  a  brass  disli  aud  a  bottle,  and 
the  man  slipped  the  dish  under  the  woman's  feet,  so 
that  it  covered  the  jar  like  a  lid ;  and  he  placed  the 
bottle  upright  on  the  dish,  and  the  woman  poised  her- 
self on  one  foot  on  the  bottle,  and  with  outspread 
arms,  and  her  free  foot  in  air,  stood  perched  like 
Mercury,  "  on  a  heaven-kissing  hill." 

And  still  the  man  ran  faster  and  faster,  and  the 
drum  and  the  castanets  hurried  to  keep  up  with  him ; 
and  not  until  we  had  grown  dizzy,  and  all  the  rotunda 
revolved  in  our  eyes  with  those  revolving  gymnasts, 
did  the  woman  leap  nimbly  to  the  floor  and  with  a 
smile  set  us  free. 

Then  the  elder  woman  left  her  tom  tom,  the  younger 
taking  her  place ;  and  she  stood  in  the  centre  of  the 
cleared  space  with  a  small  basket  of  eggs  in  her  hand. 
Around  her  head  she  bound,  smoothly  and  securely, 
a  broad  fillet,  from  which  twelve  silken  cords,  equi- 
distant, having  each  a  small  noose  at  the  end,  were 
suspended,  and  hung  just  a  little  lower  than  her 
shoulders. 

At  once   the   music  began — slowly  at  first,   then 


420  The  Old. 

faster  and  faster,  as  before  ;  and  she  gyrated  with  it, 
measuring  her  velocity  by  its  time.  Like  a  whirling 
dervish,  at  last  she  spun — a  human  teetotum- — -till  the 
silken  cords  with  their  nooses  stood  centrifugally, 
straight  out  from  her  head ;  and  when  her  velocity 
w\as  at  its  wildest,  one  by  one  she  hung  twelve  eggs  in 
the  loops,  and  whirled  on,  till  the  cords  were  like  the 
spokes  of  a  light  Yankee  wagon  in  a  state  of  2.40,  and 
the  eggs  made  a  white  halo  round  her  head.  Then, 
by  slow  degrees  she  checked  her  speed,  and  at  the  end 
replaced  her  astonished  foetus-poultry  in  the  basket, 
undamaged  by  so  much  as  a  dint. 

After  this  the  Nutts  withdrew  amid  hearty  applause, 
and  with  generous  bucksheesh  from  the  Baboo.  They 
were  to  be  followed  by  the  famous  mango-trick — 
wherein  a  mango  is  made  to  grow  from  the  seed  and 
bear  fruit,  for  the  delectation  and  special  wonder  of 
the  gazers.  But  we  had  seen  that  many  times  before, 
and  had  been  bored  past  patience  by  everybody's 
desperate  theories  to  explain  it ;  indeed,  we  preferred 
to  believe,  with  the  old  Indiamen,  that  it  is  a  veritable 
miracle.     So  we  withdrew  to  the  refreshment  saloon, 


The   Baboo's  Nautcli.  4.21 

aiul  liaving  comforted  our  .sympathetic  fatigue  with 
champagne  and  fruits,  took  our  leave — happy  tliat  in 
India,  on  such  occasions,  we  could  do  that  without 
ceremony. 

As  we  passed  through  the  extensive  compound, 
still  brilliant  and  noisy,  we  saw  people  enacting  legi- 
timate drama  that  Dr.  Bellows  would  hardly  have 
approved,  with  puppets — wonderful  make-pretences 
of  their  makers.  There  were  celebrated  wrestlers, 
too ;  and  a  great  outcry  announced  that,  in  a  contest 
just  concluded,  one  fellow  had  tossed  another  over 
his  head  and  broken  his  ribs.  In  India,  a  wrestler  is 
never  called  beaten  for  being  merely  thrown;  he  must 
be  turned  on  his  back  and  slapped  upon  the  belly. 
For  this,  herculean  strength  is  required — the  struggle 
is  at  its  fiercest  then. 

We  were  promised,  if  we  would  tarry,  a  sight  of 
the  performance  of  a  sheep-eater— one  of  those  hor- 
rible fellows  from  the  mountains,  a  reclaimed  Thug 
perhaps — who  would  strangle  a  large  sheep  with  his 
hands,  and  having  skinned  it  with  his  teeth,  would 
then    and    there   devour    it    without   knife    or   fork. 


422  The  Old. 

entire,  raw,  reeking,  and  warm.  But  we  feared  tliis 
might  prove  too  mucli  for  our  suppers ;  so,  betaking 
us  to  our  buggies,  we  sped  homeward  through  the 
still  illuminated  streets — one  of  us,  at  least,  having 
visions  by  the  way  of  Haroun-al-Raschid,  Signorina 
Soto,  the  Wizard  of  the  North,  Le  Monstre  Paul,  the 
Polish  Brothers,  Thugs,  Feejee  Cannibals,  Charlotte 
Cushman,  and  Borro-boola-gha. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE   ADJUTANTS   GKAVE. 


It  was  at  the  taking  of  Rangoon.  From  the  Irni- 
waddi,  the  crashing  batteries  of  a  dozen  steam  frigates 
had  levelled  the  stockades  on  the  river  side.  Black 
masses  of  naked,  smoke-stained  Burmese,  exposed 
at  their  guns,  or  in  shallow  trenches,  when  the  teak 
walls  fell  or  were  burned,  were  mowed  down  like 
grass  by  a  hail-storm  of  grai)e.  Our  artillery  was 
landing.  The  18th  Royal  Irish  were  already  in  the 
breaches  and  at  the  water-gate.  The  Burmese  drop- 
ped their  cumbrous  shields,  and  lances  and  dhars, 
and  fled  yelling,  back  toward  the  great  Pagoda. 
Those  wild  Irish,  possessed  of  the  same  devil  that 
dashed  and  shished  and  stabbed  and  hacked  and 
hurrahed  in  the  Enniskilleners  at  Waterloo,  went  olf 
inhotcha.se.     Only  one  regiment! — for  they  would 


424  The  Old. 

not  wait  for  tlie  slow  boats  whicli  were  brina-ins  the 
guns,  and  the  80th,  and  the  sepoy  rifles,  but  broke 
away  in  pursuit,  in  spite  of  the  almost  frantic  officers, 
who,  weak  and  lioarse  with  ineffectual  efforts  to  check 
their  mad  command,  were  forced  to  follow  at  last,  all 
chasing  the  bubble  reputation  together.  One  regi- 
ment, at  the  heels  of  ten  thousand  panic-stricken 
savages ! 

One  of  the  glorious  fellows  of  the  crack  18th  in 
this  tempestuous  hurly-burly,  was  Fallon,  the  adju- 
tant. He  was  the  equij^ped  model  of  "a  gentleman 
and  a  soldier  "  according  to  the  standard  of  his  proud 
regiment — a  jovial  boon-companion,  generous  com- 
rade, fast  friend,  frank  and  fearless  enemy — in  sport 
a  child,  in  taste  a  scholar,  impetuous  in  fight,  pitiful 
in  victory. 

As  his  disordered  party  charged  shouting  up  the 
broad  Dagon  Koad,  between  the  long  lines  of  the 
Inner  Stockade,  over  bamboo  bridges  thrown  across 
trenches,  and  past  grim  gigantic  idols,  and  poonghee 
houses  fantastically  carved,  the  Adjutant,  who  had 
lingered  behind  the  rest,  striving  to  the  last,  in  his 


Tlu:  Ailjutaiit's  Gruve.  42^ 

liabitual  dcvDtioii  to  discipline,  to  restrain  the  men, 
liappencd  to  be  in  the  rear  of  all. 

"How  now?"  jestingly  cried  Clark,  an  English 
ensign  of  the  Adjutant's  mess,  who  was  running  just 
before  him,  "our  plucky  Fallon  at  the  back  of  us 
all !  This  is  bad  enough  for  me,  old  fellow,  who 
have  my  medals  to  win;  but  it  will  never  do  for  you, 
with  those  red  ribbons  to  answer  for." 

"  I  am  doing  my  best,  Clark,  my  boy,"  Fallon 
replied,  "and  shall  be  up  witli  that  crazy  sergeant 
presently.  You  kn(iw  I  am  good  for  a  short  brush 
of  foot  race ;  fast  running  is  one  of  my  accomplish- 
ments— thanks  to  my  bog-trotting  education,  and  the 
practice  Lord  Gough  gave  us." 

Hardly  were  the  words  done  ringing  in  his  com- 
rade's ears,  when  the  gallant  Fallon,  the  pride  of  his 
corps,  received  in  his  generous  breast  a  dozen  mus- 
ket-balls as  he  sprang  up  the  broad  staircase  of  the 
Golden  Dagon  Pagoda — first  of  them  all,  and  quite 
alone.  He  fell  on  his  face,  stone  dead,  on  the  sUiii'S, 
sword  in  hand,  and  smiling. 

When  all  was  over,  and  his  regiment  held  the  post 


426  The  Old. 

of  lionor  on  the  very  throne  of  the  Boodh,  they  gave 
him  ca  soldier's  most  distinguished  obsequies,  burying 
him  in  a  solemn  grave  of  talipot  trees,  behind  a  poon- 
ghee  house  of  the  grotesquest  architecture,  and  just 
outside  of  what  were  afterward  the  sepoy  lines  of  the 
80th.  His  faithful  orderly  planted  a  rude  cross  at  his 
grave's  head,  and  set  an  English  white  rose  there. 
An  American  missionary  gave  it  him. 


In  Calcutta,  ISTorah  Fallon — beautiful,  accomplished, 
witty,  altogether  radiant  with  rare  charms  of  mind 
and  person — waited  with  her  young  child  for  news 
from  her  soldier-husband  who  had  her  heart  in  his 
keeping  within  the  stockades  of  Eangoon.  When 
they  told  her  he  was  dead,  she  fell,  uttering  only  a 
sharp  cry,  and  lay  as  one  dead  for  many  days.  But 
when  she  awoke  to  the  consciousness  of  her  profound 
bereavement  and  her  eternal  widowhood,  she  shed 
not  one  tear,  nor  spoke  a  word,  but  took  her  boy  and 
went  aboard  a  troop-ship  that  sailed  on  the  morrow 
for  Eancroon. 


Tlic   Adjuraiit'.s  (ira\(.*  ^.iy 

Ou  tlic  voyage,  still  she  spoke  not,  nor  ever  wejit 
— the  silence  oi"  her  sorrow  had  something  sacred, 
almost  awful,  about  it,  tliat  commanded  a  delicacy  of 
consideration,  which  was  a  sort  of  worship,  from  the 
rudest  around  her. 

Arrived  at  Rangoon,  no  sooner  had  the  ship  drop- 
ped anchor  off  the  King's  Wharf,  than  Norah  sent 
her  chaprassey,  her  Hindoo  errand-goer,  with  a  note 
to  Gen.  Godwin,  commanding  the  Company's  forces 
in  Burmah:  "The  wife  of  Maurice  Fallon,  adjutant 
in  the  18th  of  her  Majesty's  Royal  Irisli,  would  be 
permitted  to  see  her  husband's  grave;  she  awaits 
the  expression  of  the  General's  wishes  on  board  the 
Mahanuddy." 

She  waited  long.  At  last  the  answer  came :  "  It 
was  with  unfeigned  sorrow  that  Lieut.-Gen.  Godwin 
found  himself  constrained,  by  the  exigencies  of  his 
position,  to  refuse  the  widow  of  one  of  his  best 
officers,  whose  loss  was  felt  by  the  whole  Anglo-In- 
dian army,  the  sad  privilege  of  visiting  the  spot 
where  his  comrades  had  consigned  him  to  a  brave 
soldier's  grave.      But  the  Genend's  footing  in  Kan- 


428  *  The  Old. 

goon  was  precarious ;  hourly  apprehensions  of  attack, 
by  a  strong  body  of  the  enemy,  were  entertained.  It 
was  known  that  a  daring  Burman  chief  was  approach- 
ing with  a  numerous  and  well-armed  force,  and  had 
already  arrived  in  the  neighborhood  of  Kemmendine. 
Therefore,  for  the  present,  the  Lieut.-General  must  for- 
bid the  landing  of  his  countrywomen  from  the  ship- 
ping, on  any  pretext.  He  hoped  to  be  forgiven  by 
the  dear  lady,  whose  grief  he  humbly  asked  to  be 
permitted  to  participate  in ;  but,  in  this  case,  he  was 
not  left  in  the  exercise  of  the  least  discretion — such 
were  the  Regulations," 

When  Norah  Fallon  had,  read  these  lines,  she 
retired  to  her  cabin  in  silence,  and  was  not  seen  again 
that  day.  On  the  next,  she  was  observed  in  frequent 
and  eager  conference,  in  whispered  Hindostanee,  with 
an  old  and  faithful  bhearer,  grey -bearded  and  of  grave 
and  dignified  demeanor,  who  had  long  been  in  the 
confidence  of  her  husband — indeed,  a  sort  of  humble 
but  fatherly  guardian  to  the  young,  inexperienced, 
and  perhaps  imprudent  pair,  who,  wdth  their  darling 
between  them,  were  all-in-all  to  each  other,  and  heed- 


The  Adjutant's  (rnivo.  ^29 

less  of  all  besiilc.  The  oM  Hindoo  had  formerly 
lived  several  years  at  Proine,  whither  he  had  gone  in 
the  capacity  of  bhcarer  to  an  English  commissioner; 
he  therefore  knew  the  Burmese  character  well,  and 
could  speak  the  language  with  tolerable  fluency. 

There  were  many  "  friendly  "  Burmese  at  Rangoon 
at  this  time,  deserters  from  Dallah,  shrewd  fellows 
who  had  foreseen  safety  in  British  ascendancy,  and 
being  mostly  fishermen,  had  offered  themselves  for 
"Inglee"  muskets  for  the  nonce,  witli  a  sharp  eye  to 
profitable  nets  thereafter.  Indeed,  not  a  few  of  these 
calculating  traitors  liad  taken  to  their  old  trade 
already,  and  were  busily  plying  their  poles  and  hooks 
from  crazy  canoes  at  the  mouth  of  Kemmendinc 
Creek.  It  was  not  long  before  some  of  them,  hailed 
by  old  Buxsoo,  the  bhearer,  came  alongside  with,  as 
he  said,  fish  for  the  "  Mem  Sahib,"  his  mistress.  On 
these  occasions  he  conversed  with  them  in  Burmese, 
and  whoever  watched  narrowly  the  astonished  and 
anxious  flices  of  the  fishermen  must  have  observed 
that  neither  the  freshness  nor  the  price  of  their  finny 
prizes  formed  any  part  of  the  discussion. 


430  The  Old. 

It  was  a  dark  niglit — no  moon  and  a  cloudy  sky ; 
all  hands  had  gone  below  and  "turned  in,"  some 
hours  since.  The  officer  of  the  deck,  night-glass  in 
hand,  paced  the  "  bridge,"  or  leaned  over  the  rail  and 
watched  the  lights  ashore;  while  the  quartermaster 
patrolled  the  gangways.  But  these  were  not  alone 
on  deck ;  on  the  bull-ring  of  the  after-gun  the  pale 
and  tearless  widow  sat,  still  as  a  shadow,  and  peered 
through  the  darkness  shoreward,  to  where  the  ISth's 
lights  gleamed  from  the  Golden  Dagon.  Such  was 
her  nightly  wont,  and  officers  and  men  had  become 
so  accustomed  to  it,  that  she  sometimes  sat  there  till 
after  midnight,  unheeded  and  forgotten. 

The  young  officer  still  chased  with  his  eyes  the 
restless  lights,  and  dreamed  dreams  the  while  of  home 
and  of  a  sweetheart;  the  gruff  old  quartermaster 
paced  up  and  down,  and  thought  of  prize-money  and 
the  "old  woman."  Neither  had  eye  or  thought  for 
the  poor  lady — they  were  so  used  to  her  lonesome 
ways,  d'ye  see — else  they  might  have  found  some- 
thing unusual  in  the  anxiety  with  which  she  watched 
a  singular  object  in  the  water  astern — only  an  empty 


The   Adjuranr's  Cinivc  431 

canoe  (Irifliiig  towards  the  sliij)!  Not  drifting  either; 
for  now  that  I  point  tlieiii  out  to  you,  you  can 
sec  two  black  licads,  with  hmi^  liuir  twist<'<l  in  a  bar- 
baric knot  behind,  peering  warily  above  the  water  in 
front  of  the  boat,  which  seems  to  follow  them. 

The  lovedorn  youngster,  or  the  gruff  old  (quarter- 
master on  prize-money  intent,  did  look  toward  the 
bull-ring  a  little  latci-,  an'l  saw — nothing;  the  lady 
was  gone.  "WhithiM?  to  her  cabin  ?  No;  she  could 
not  have  passed  them  imobserved.  But  that  was  easy 
to  decide — her  light  still  burned;  her  state-room  Avas 
open  and  vacant.  AVherc  then  was  she?  Good  Hea- 
vens!— it  could  not  be — and  yet  it  must — poor  lady  ! 
— poor  baby  !  They  gave  the  alarm ;  they  rouserl 
the  ship ;  a  gun  was  fired ;  a  search  made — in  vain ; 
alas!  it  must  be  so — "she  has  gone  to  join  her  hus- 
band." 

True!  but  not  that  way,  gruff  ol(i  quartermaster; 
not  that  way,  sentimental  master's  mate.  Stop  think- 
ing about  her — have  ears  and  brains  for  your  duty. 
What  was  that  shot  on  shore?  And,  hark  now! 
another,  and  another,  and  another!  the  alarm  is  given 


432  The  Old. 

in  the  British  hnes;  the  sentries  have  discharged  their 
pieces  and  run  in !  See  !  the  pLace  is  all  a-blaze  with 
lights  ;  every  poonghee-house  is  illaminated;  you  can 
discern  the  great  porch  of  the  Golden  Dagon,  with  its 
griffin  warders,  from  here.  They  are  beating  to  arms ; 
the  trumpet  sounds  the  "  assembly."  What  could 
that  first  and  solitary  shot  have  been? 

Ah  !  my  nautical  friends,  while  your  sapient  pates 
were  busy  guessing,  that  pair  of  barbaric  black  heads 
have  drifted  under  the  stern  again,  and  the  same  canoe 
has  drifted  with  them — nor  empty  this  time ;  for, 
look  again,  and  you  will  see  that  her  light  is  no  longer 
burning,  and  her  state-room  door  is  closed,  though  the 
window  is  open ;  and — can  it  be  ? — ^yes,  you  do  hear 
her  breathing.  Wait !  spare  your  heads  the  guessing ; 
it  will  all  be  cleared  up  for  you  one  day.  Wait  till 
you  dare  to  ask  Norah  Fallon  why  she  makes  so 
much  of  that  withered  white  rose. 

General  Godwin's  next  dispatch  to  the  Governor- 
General  contained  a  curious  passage :  "On  the  night 
of  the  15th,  the  cantonments  were  thrown  into  dis- 
order by  a  false   alarm,  caused   by  the   mysterious 


The  Adjutant's  Gra\c.  4:^::^ 

fliscbargc  of  a  pistol  in  tlic  talipot  grove,  which  en- 
closes the  grave  of  the  late  Adjutant  Fallon,  wIkj  (Ml 
gloriously  in  the  attack  on  the  Dagon  Pagoda ;  tlic 
spot  is  close  to  the  sepoy  lines  of  11.  Af,  80th,  My 
men  maintained  good  order,  answering  the  assembly 
call  with  remarkable  celerity,  and  in  complete  equip- 
ment. At  daybreak,  a  sepoy  of  Major  Ainslie's 
picket  found  a  dead  boa  of  great  size,  and  evidently 
just  killed,  lying  across  young  Fallon's  grave;  also, 
suspended  to  the  cross  by  a  blue  ribbon,  a  gold  locket 
containing  two  locks  of  hair — a  lady's  and  a  child's  ; 
and  fastened  to  the  cross  by  a  short  Burmese  poniard 
tlirougli  the  paper,  the  inclosure  marked  X." 

Inclosure  X  contained  the  following:  "  There  are 
710  'Regulations'  for  the  heart  of  an  Irish  soldier's 
wife.  N.  F." 


THE   END 


A  Piquant  Book  of  Travel. 


UP  AND  DOWN  THE  IREAWADDI 

BEING   PASSAGES    OF 

ADVENTURES  IN  THE  BURMAN  EMPIRE. 

By  J .  W .  Palmer,  M  .  D  . , 

(Author  of  "  The  New  and  the  Old.'") 

A  new  and  revised  edition^   "with  two  spirited  illustrations, 

12mo.  muslin.     Price  $1  00. 
Critics  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic  have  characterized  this 
volume  as  one  of  the  most  striking  books  of  Travel  since  King- 
lake's  "  Eothen." 

From  the  London  Athenceiim. 
"  Every  knot  of  water,  every  furlong  of  land,  yields  pictures. 
*  *  *  In   its   accumulation   of    breathless   perils   evaded,    the 
Escape  at  Pegu  beats  any  half  volume  of  Cooper's  most  savage 
romance." 

From  the  London  Examiner . 
"  He  writes  in  a  style  that  might  befit  the  dashing  '  Own  Cor- 
respondent' of  an  American  newspaper.     There  is  life  and  color 
in  the  narrative." 

From  the  N.  Y.  Courier  and  Enquirer. 
"  A  livelier,   more  entertaining  book  of  travels  is  rarely  pub- 
hshed.  In  some  passages  a  little  improper,  but  not  alarmingly  so." 
From  the  N.  Y.  Tribune. 
"  The  author  has  all  the  spirit  of  adventure,  the  reckless  auda- 
city of  enterprise,  the  taste  for  the  comic  side  of  things,  and  the 
talent  for  dashing,  off-hand  description,  of  your  genuine  full- 
blooded  Yankee  traveller." 

From  the  Albion. 
"  The  description  of  his  escape  during  the  assault  on  Pegu  is  a 
master-piece  in  its  way.     He  has  the  right  stuff  in  him  for  be- 
coming a  popular  author." 

From  Harpers^  Magazine. 
"  The  narrative  never  palls  upon  the  sense  of  the  reader,  but 
furnishes  a  constant  stimulus  to  curiosity  by  its  rapid  succession 
of  strange  adventures." 

f^°  Sold  everywhere,  and  sent  by  mail,  postage  free,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  States,  on  the  receipt  of  the  price. 

RUDD  &  CARLETON,  Publishers  and  Booksellers, 

No.  130  Grand-st.  (near  Broadway),  New  York. 


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